


A house is not a home

by coalitiongirl



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/F, Post-3A, Swan-Mills Family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-11
Updated: 2016-05-18
Packaged: 2018-06-01 16:39:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 36,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6527887
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coalitiongirl/pseuds/coalitiongirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Peter Pan managed to cast his curse on Storybrooke during Going Home. Six months later, the Swan-Mills family breaks the curse and discovers that they'd never been a family at all; that Emma and Regina had never fallen in love; and that they can't quite let go of the lie that had been their happy ending.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I

**Author's Note:**

> I was going to post this as one very lengthy oneshot, but this is looking to come close to 25k right now and I think that's a bit too long even for those plans. Hopefully you'll stick with me for it anyway! <3
> 
> As the summary suggests, this is post-3a but without the missing year or Emma and Henry leaving town. But I ignored all the most tiresome characters so it reads a bit as a Season One throwback, complete with the divorced lesbian mommies aesthetic. Hope you enjoy!

“We have a new guest with us today,” Archie says, shifting in his seat. There are a half dozen others sitting in the circle of chairs and couches, and they watch him curiously at his discomfort. “I want you to treat her as you would anyone else in our support group.” 

“It’s not that lion lady, is it?” Leroy says, turning in his seat to face the door as she steps in. “Oh,  _hell no_.” 

 

Regina’s teeth are already clamped together, and she can’t do this. She can’t go through this nonsense  _support group_ because Archie thinks  _Post-Curse Stress Disorder_ is a real thing, and she certainly isn’t going to sit here with eight people sneering at her over it. “Wrong room,” she says tersely. “Sorry for the interruption.” 

 

Archie frowns at her. “Regina.”

 

“ _Mayor Mills,_ ” she hisses, glaring at them all. 

 

“I thought Peter Pan was the mayor now,” Ashley Boyd says, brow furrowing. “If he cast the new curse, it’s only fair–“

 

Leroy snorts. “Have you ever known the Evil Queen to fight fair?”

 

“That’s enough,” Archie finally intervenes, and Regina burns with humiliation and stands her ground, white-knuckled and furious at all of them. “Regina is a victim of this particular curse, just like all of you. And whatever she may have done in the past, she’s also the one who  _broke_ it, so she’s a welcome participant in this room. This is a safe space.” 

 

Leroy growls out something huffy and Regina grinds her teeth and takes a seat on the other side of the circle, between Marco and a woman she doesn’t know. Archie sits back, satisfied. “Now, Regina, why don’t you introduce yourself?” She opens her mouth–  _Evil Queen. Runs this town. Saved your asses_ – when Archie hastily amends, “First name only, along with your curse identity. Second curse.” 

 

She closes her eyes, irritated with this and Archie himself for foisting this support group onto her, and when she opens them again it’s to six hostile faces and one professionally interested (and pained. Very pained). “Regina,” she says curtly. “I ran the stables during the second curse.”

 

“Now there’s a punishment,” the woman beside her says, wrinkling her nose. Regina is silent. It hadn’t been a punishment, no matter how demeaning Pan had meant for it to be. It’s the only thing about that whole false life that had been…not awful. But the woman beside her looks almost sympathetic. “Between that and your marriage, you got a little taste of what you put us through, huh?” 

 

Well. Maybe not sympathetic. Regina ignores her, turning back to Archie. Archie says, “Your marriage?” as though that isn’t why he’d insisted she come to this group in the first place.

 

She finds her voice again, makes sure it won’t crack before she spits out, “I have nothing to say about that.” And her traitorous voice keeps going. “It’s not my first time being forced into a sham of a marriage with  _that family_.”

 

Archie’s eyebrows rise. “I can see how both situations might feel comparable,” he allows. “Though in this case, your spouse had no choice in the matter, either.”

 

Regina’s eyes narrow, angry and frustrated and helpless to do a thing about it but lash out. “I’m sorry, am I paying your exorbitant fees to sit in a circle and listen to you  _defend_  Emma Swan?” 

 

Archie clears his throat. “We’re talking about–“

 

“No, you’retalking,” Regina cuts him off. “Go back to playing nursemaid to the Lost Boys. I’m done.”

 

She stalks from the room, ignoring pitying and scornful stares alike, and she gets into her car, seething and fuming until there’s nothing left but drained exhaustion with every factor that has combined to create this new hell for her.

 

* * *

 

She notices she’s being followed when she’s halfway home. Old habits die hard, and somehow she’d registered the distinctive car behind her in her mirrors and thought nothing of it until she’d turned the corner to her side of town. 

 

Her eyes narrow and dammit, she’s so tired of being provoked all the time, of having to be furious when she’s just exhausted. Isn’t Emma tired yet?

 

She twists the wheel of the car at a stop sign a block from her house and careens around, blocking off the street before the yellow Bug can pass her, and she breathes in twice before she parks and exits the car. “Are you following me now?” she demands.

 

Emma Swan is pale, dark circles under her eyes, and someone who hadn’t had knowledge of her implanted into their mind might not have seen it all. “Oh,” Emma says, staring at her and then the house up ahead of them. Her hand tightens on her open car door. “I…I forgot again.”

 

“Forgot?” Regina repeats disbelievingly. “Forgot what? That stalking is a punishable offense? That Henry isn’t even  _here_ right now?” 

 

Emma’s gaze is blank, drawn and vulnerable and still unreadable. “I forgot that I don’t live here anymore,” she says, raising her eyes to stare at the mayoral mansion, and for a protracted moment, there’s raw agony on Emma’s face beneath a veneer of hardness.

 

Regina hesitates mid-scathing retort and gives up, something scratching at her throat for purchase. She makes her way back to her car with measured steps, right-foot-left-foot-onward until she can duck back into it.

 

A moment before she’s free, Emma says in a small voice, “I got an apartment.” 

 

“What?” For one ridiculous moment, Regina thinks it’s an… _invitation or something_ , which is absurd, because they were barely even allies before a six-month delusion. And Emma wants as little to do with Regina now as Regina does her, all that soured for them both.

 

But no, this is about Henry. “You said…I get that you don’t want him to stay at the loft. There won’t be much space there anyway when…” She pauses and Regina remembers a night four months ago, Snow’s face shining and Emma’s movements dull and mechanical as they’d wished their congratulations to her. They’d gone home and Emma had curled up in her arms in bed,  _I don’t know why I’m so upset. I don’t know how our…our friends having a baby matters to me–_ and Regina had cradled her and not understood the dread pooling in her own stomach, either. 

 

Pan’s curse had been built too quickly, too sloppily; and while Regina’s had been crafted over years of work and been seamless until she’d introduced one unpredictable element– a little boy who’d smiled up at her and her defenses had drained away– Pan’s had had too many little imperfections to hold up for long. 

 

Somehow, her false marriage had been one of the few things about the curse that had seemed genuine and  _safe_ until she’d picked up that damned book and a tsunami of doubt had devastated her unsuspecting heart in an instant. 

 

She bottles the rage that had been the only survivor of those waves and uncorks it whenever her heart falters. “When their precious baby comes,” she sneers, and that rage never quite directs itself at Emma when she means it to. Emma flinches anyway. “So you moved out.”

 

“I thought he could stay with me on weekends, like we talked about.” They’re discussing custody arrangements in the middle of the street, Emma’s face still pale but determined. It’s  _absurd_. It’s all...

 

Regina is no less stubborn than Emma. “He needs a stable environment. You had him for two months before Neverland and you managed to kidnap him to New York and then  _lose_ him–“

 

“You poisoned him!” Emma shoots back, and the rage burns hot and true now. “If we’re going to posture about–“ She stops herself, her hands trembling against the car door. “ _Please_ , Regina. I know it was all a lie, but I just…the past six months were…” She pinches the bridge of her nose and Regina shakes with fury and loss and despair. “I can’t lose him again,” she whispers, catching Regina’s gaze with pleading eyes.

 

“I didn’t adopt as a single mother to play  _divorced lesbian mommies_ with my son,” Regina says, drawing herself up and keeping her back very straight. This is a farce and they both know it, because nothing good comes out of trying to force Henry to pick one of them. And it had been a goddamned miracle that he’d even chosen to stay on Mifflin after this curse had broken and she isn’t going to risk that now. “Every other weekend,” she bites out instead. “He can come to the station after school during the week as long as he’s home for dinner.”

 

Emma’s eyes light up at her and it’s like gazing into the sun in an eclipse, scorching her eyes before she can turn away. “Regina–“ Emma starts, and Regina can’t.

 

She sinks into her seat and slams her car door instead, driving the fifty feet to her driveway and turning back only once she’s made it in. Emma is still standing in front of her car, watching her unabashedly, and Regina stalks into her house and shuts the door before she sinks to the ground to sob into her knees.

 

* * *

 

By the time Henry makes it home that evening, she’s wearing a new face of makeup and has dinner ready in the oven. “You’ll be spending weekends at Emma’s apartment,” she informs him, pressing a kiss to his temple. It’s getting to be more of a stretch to reach it, and she determinedly doesn’t think about that, either. “Is that okay with you?” 

 

“She said every other weekend.” He doesn’t sound unhappy, exactly, but he doesn’t sound enthused either. She looks at him askance.

 

“She must have heard wrong. Here, set down these plates.” She’s taken out three on automatic and she shoves one back into the cabinet, perhaps with a bit too much force. Henry watches her solemnly. “Are you okay with this?” 

 

“Not really, no,” Henry says, and victory shouldn’t feel this much like defeat. “I don’t…I don’t want you to be alone every weekend.” He looks pale and defiant, Emma in miniature. “I don’t want Ma to be alone all the rest of the week, either. I don’t get why we can’t  _just_ …” He bites at his lip and says nothing and she sets down the pot roast and says nothing and there are too many leftovers again. She packages them up into Tupperware and doesn’t use the small containers that she’d sent Emma to work with every day for six months.

 

Henry goes upstairs after dinner, stomping on the stairs as he ascends, and Regina sits in her study and stares blankly at the book at the corner of her desk.  _Once Upon a Time_ , it reads, but it’s a very different book than the one Henry keeps upstairs. The pictures within it are no less indistinct, fuzzy memories of a town that had been before Pan, and it had been her blessing and her curse to be the one to receive it.

 

“You saved us all with that book,” says a voice from the doorway, and Regina sighs heavily and says, “I’m changing the locks.”

 

“Oh, come on, Regina, we were friends,” Snow protests, making herself comfortable on the couch. 

 

“We were cursed!”

 

“We were friends.” Snow pats the spot next to her like she thinks– like this is three weeks ago and they’re all having drinks together while David plays ball with Henry in the yard. Like Regina is rolling her eyes at Snow from beside her and Emma is giving Regina a warning  _be nice_ glarethat she’ll reluctantly obey. “After everything we’ve been through, wasn’t it a relief to get to be happy together?” 

 

“It was a lie,” Regina says flatly.

 

Snow smiles. “Some lies are worth holding onto.” It’s so damned  _arrogant_ and  _privileged_ and Regina sits in stony silence, glaring at an unimpressed Snow. “Thank you,” Snow says. “For getting Emma out of the apartment.” 

 

“I didn’t  _get her_ anywhere. I don’t give a damn about her.” 

 

“Mm-hm. So I told you she was miserable last week.” Snow leans back. “And you immediately gave her an ultimatum. And now she has an apartment of her own.” 

 

“Your family squabbles have nothing to do with my son’s wellbeing,” Regina says coolly. “And I don’t need Henry dealing with his other mother’s abandonment issues because her parents are too busy replacing her to focus on her.” 

 

Snow flinches. For a moment. Her face tightens and her eyes are tired but she says instead, “I wish you’d talk to her. Can’t you see that you need each other?” 

 

“Your delusions about whatever happened during the curse being  _real_ are not a reason to be anywhere around someone who  _violated_ me,” Regina shoots back, affronted. She wants to force Snow out of her house, out of her  _life_ , to call the police and–

 

She can't call the police and bring more Charmings into this. She hasn’t felt this trapped and defeated since Daniel’s death. 

 

And Snow has the audacity to shake her head. “I saw you in Neverland,” she says, her voice gentle. “Both of you. I saw the way you looked at each other when you didn’t know anyone was watching.”

 

“Get out,” Regina snarls, her throat hoarse.

 

Snow doesn’t move. “Peter Pan violated you– both of you. But all Emma did was love you.”

 

“Get  _out,_ ” Regina says, rising– and she can fight with fists and fireballs, hurl them at a woman who has no right to be here, disappoint her son and feel savage satisfaction on behalf of a woman she doesn’t give a damn about. “You can stand here and talk about– talk about this like you’re nobly interested in my–“ She shakes her head. “I know what you’re thinking. I know what all of you are thinking,” she grinds out, stalking toward Snow.

 

Snow stares up at her, her expression unchanging. “I don’t think you do.” 

 

“You’re thinking that no one deserves this more than I do. That every violation– that I deserved all of this for what I did to you,” Regina hisses. Her fists are quivering with fury and pain and too many nights awake pushing intrusive thoughts from her mind,  _you did this, you deserve this, you are this–_  “And you’re right! You think I don’t recognize that? You don't have the monopoly in hypocrisy in this fam–“ She freezes. A moment too late.

 

Snow echoes it in a whisper. “In this family.” And her eyes are shining like she’s fought for this and  _won_ , like it’s a confession that resonates through their lives instead of a twisted relic of a curse, and Regina feels bile rise in her throat and sandpaper-dry eyes scraping out new tears.

 

“Get out,” she says again, her throat thick, and she flees to her room before Snow can speak again.

 

* * *

 

Regina paces back and forth in her office on Friday, contemplating an empty house and a stack of paperwork and a bottle of wine before she lets out a frustrated sigh and heads down the stairs and toward Archie’s office.

 

The support group meets biweekly, and she’s being billed for the full week  _so_. So. She slips into the room, focusing on entering unseen, and she successfully makes it to an empty little sofa before she notices who’s speaking. 

 

It’s Emma, leaning against the desk and fiddling with her fingers as she talks, and she sees Regina before anyone else and stops. “Anyway,” she says, nervously licking her lips. “I think I’m kind of settling into a routine now. With Henry.” She moves toward Regina and Regina notices too late that the empty couch had been the only free seat in the room.

 

She grits her teeth. Emma presses her lips together and turns sharply, squeezing onto the couch beside her, the cushions sinking toward each other so their arms bump together. Regina slides her hands onto her lap, knees pressed together and eyes straight ahead.

 

Another woman has begun talking, though this one doesn’t stand up. “I think…the worst part for me was catering to those Lost Boys all the time,” she says, shaking her head. “It was the old world all over again. I didn’t upgrade from peasantry to serve a gaggle of spoiled little boys.” Regina recognizes her. She’s one of the local high school teachers, and a rare mother who’d lost her son to Neverland long before the first curse. She squeezes her fingers into her thigh and watches the woman's drawn face instead of Emma’s bouncing knee. 

 

“My boy left for the woods every night. He still does,” Marco says, shaking his head. “Even with the curse broken.” The couch is shaking slightly as Emma's knee pops, and Regina puts an absentminded hand on Emma’s knee to curtail it. Emma stops moving. Regina’s cheeks are hot as she snatches her hand away.

 

“Wait,” Emma says, and for a breathless moment Regina believes Emma is talking to her. “Did you say he’s still running for the woods at night?” 

 

Marco nods. “My son is doing the same,” Michael Tillman says, frowning. “I’ve asked him about it and he won’t give me a straight answer. All the boys in town have been. Haven’t you seen Henry doing it?”

 

“Henry never did,” Regina interjects. Hostile eyes turn on her and she looks to Emma instead. Emma glares back at everyone around them just as fiercely. “He…I  didn’t understand it, either,” she admits, sinking back against the couch. 

 

“Maybe because he was already in Neverland,” Emma offers weakly. They’d asked him once, early on, when the truancy problem had reached new levels and Henry had been the only boy who’d made it into school for a full week. He’d looked at them oddly.  _Yeah, I guess it’d be nice to be part of the gang? But why would I want to run with the Lost Boys if I’m not lost?_

 

Peter Pan hadn’t given a damn about people’s happiness and misery or crafting a new curse. He’d slapped new memories onto the old curse and given his Boys full reign of the town and only Regina and Emma and Henry had been handed a new story. 

 

_Because we could break the curse,_ Emma had said urgently that first night after.  _Because I’m the savior and Henry’s the truest believer and he had to– we had to be content. We had to have our happy ending._ Her eyes had been pleading, her heart on her sleeve, and Regina had been frozen in disbelief.  _He didn’t count on you, I guess_ , she’d said, her voice subdued and broken as she’d sought validation from Regina, and Regina had turned away and retreated into her home.

 

The rest of the group returns to their prior discussion, and Emma leans back so she can murmur in Regina’s ear, “Have you checked in on him at night?” 

 

No. No, she hasn’t. She’d gotten too complacent after six months and memories of happy moments before then, and she’d stopped treating every moment with Henry as another moment she’s about to lose. She clenches her jaw and Emma whispers, “I know. I get why…why you wouldn’t, if he’s back in the morning.” 

 

She turns, eyes narrowed and close enough that Emma’s even breathing is soft against her lips. (She doesn’t think of a thousand kisses that had been lies, of how many nights they’d spent curled into each other on a couch like this, trailing her hands through Emma’s hair and so  _disgustingly_ filled with overpowering  _adoration_ –) “He’s  _fine_ ,” she snarls in a low voice. “I can take perfectly good care of our son, thank you very much.” 

 

“Okay,” Emma says, and it’s stifling to feel her this close, light eyes dark with emotion, lips glistening as she swipes her tongue along them again. Regina is stock-still, her whole self aching, her heart thudding reproach against her ribs.

 

Right before Pan’s curse had hit, when they’d been saying their goodbyes as they’d fled for the town line ( _too late, always too late_ ), Henry had been tucked under David's arm, as safe as he could be. Regina had called forth her magic as Emma had been struggling with her own, the two of them braced against each other as green magic had swept over them, and for a moment–

 

She’d seen nothing but Emma in front of her, eyes glittering with determination even now, and her heart had raced and she’d thought  _maybe_ and hadn’t considered what that  _maybe_ had meant. Emma had leaned forward, her lips parted as she’d spoken voiceless words, and Regina had pressed her forehead to Emma’s as the smoke had billowed around them and the curse had come to take them.

 

And then she’d awakened in her bed, burrowed into Emma’s side and mumbling protests as Emma had laughingly kissed her awake. And there are no more  _maybes_ anymore.

 

She straightens, pulling away from Emma in the too-stuffy therapist’s office, and Emma follows her as she hurries from the room. “Regina, wait. Can you just  _wait_ for one–“ 

 

“What do you talk about in there?” Regina demands. “What are you telling absolute strangers about our–“

 

“Henry,” Emma says, breathing hard as she catches up to her. “I talked about Henry. Just Henry. It’s been only five sessions and I missed one, okay? I have all these  _memories_ of us being a happy family and suddenly we’re  _not_ and I haven’t been alone with our son in two and a half weeks and I just…” She shuts her eyes and opens them again, calmer as she meets Regina’s eyes. “I don’t talk about you.”

 

Regina arches an eyebrow, only half-believing. “I  _don’t_ ,” Emma says again. “It’s not…it’s not a place I’d go for that, anyway.” She shrugs helplessly. “They…you know, they’re not your biggest fans. They wouldn’t get it.” 

 

“Get what?” Regina demands, which is a terrible mistake the moment she says it. Emma’s eyes crinkle like they used to when Regina would get particularly cranky about Emma skipping out on chores and Emma would–  _laugh into her neck, kiss away a scowl, whisper ‘you’re so unreasonable’ and Regina would roll her eyes fondly and–_ all of this is a lie. She shudders and Emma presses her lips together and lifts her shoulders again.

 

“Look,” Emma says, after a long pause. “I think we should…I think you should come by tonight. Come for dinner and stay so Henry doesn’t ask any questions. We’re getting along, right? We’re doing Wine Night. And then we wait and see what he does when we’re asleep.” 

 

And there’s a jolt of fear– of recriminations, of Neverland all over again– and Emma must see the way Regina’s face freezes because she reaches for her instinctively. Her fingers brush against the back of Regina’s hand and Regina’s breath is strangled in her throat and why does every step of this have to be so  _agonizing_? “For Henry,” she says, and Emma smiles painfully and bobs her head.

 

* * *

 

The apartment is…nice. It’s really nice, actually, large with big windows that let in sunlight and a full-sized kitchen and a dining nook that connects the kitchen to the living room. It had come fully furnished and both of the two bedrooms are equipped for occupants, and Henry’s has a desk that he settles in to do homework after dinner. “I’m glad you’re getting along,” he says, leaning into Regina’s arm. 

 

_Getting along_ might be an overstatement, but Regina had sat in silence and let Henry and Emma do the talking, so it’s…close. There had been a terrible familiarity to it, eating one of Emma’s half-dozen regular dishes (always a pasta, always cheese, sometimes a vegetable if she knows Regina’s going to be home (not  _home_ ) for dinner, and sometimes she’ll put an egg in it and bake it if she wants to impress her) and listening to Emma rib Henry about another perfect math score. (“What a  _nerd_ ,” she says, poking his arm. “You definitely don’t get that from my side of the–“ and she’d snapped her mouth shut, averting her eyes from Regina.)

 

And Henry counts this as positive behavior, so she smiles down at him and murmurs, not untruthful, “We’d do anything to keep you happy and safe.” She kisses his cheek and leaves the room with reluctance.

 

Emma is washing dishes in the kitchen and Regina grabs the towel automatically, drying each one off and setting it in the rack. They’re finishing up the forks when Emma breaks the silence. “So.” 

 

“So.” 

 

“How do you like the apartment?” Emma’s eyes are searching, scanning her face for her reaction. Regina wipes her face clear of emotion. “You like it,” Emma says with satisfaction.

 

She hates it. She hates it so viscerally that she finds it unsettling to be in it, and she refuses to think about why it feels so  _wrong_ to see Emma and Henry in a home together where she isn’t– “It’s tolerable,” she lies, and Emma’s forehead creases.

 

“I fucked up,” Emma admits a moment later, and Regina eyes her warily. “No, not–“ She shakes her head. “Nothing big. Just…I didn’t think. Henry isn’t going anywhere until we’re asleep, and…” She gestures toward her room. 

 

There’s only one bedroom, and Regina can already guess that there’s only one bed.  _This night just gets better and better._ “Well, we don’t have a choice, do we?” she demands irritably. “You’ll have to sleep on the couch tonight.” At Emma’s look, she says, “Henry isn’t going to buy us sleeping in the same bed  _anyway_ , so–“ 

 

“Henry isn’t going to buy you sleeping in the apartment at all when you live five minutes away,” Emma points out. “Not unless you… _you know._ Have a reason to stay.” She pops out a cheap bottle of wine. “Wine night.” 

 

Regina fumes in silence and Emma leads her to the bedroom. “I’m not giving him false hope,” Regina says darkly, stalking after her. “He already thinks that we should go back to being cursed pod people.” 

 

“Come,” Emma says patiently. “Sit down on the bed, watch some TV. I’ll take care of the rest.” 

 

It’s too domestic. It’s too  _familiar_ , a night just like every other, and Emma is sitting beside her with a bottle of wine and two glasses when Henry peers in at them. “Are you two back together?” he says hopefully.

 

Emma gives him a reproachful look. “No, kid. Just celebrating the weekend as friends. Cheers.” She knows exactly how to subdue Regina because this had always been their Friday night routine– wine, a bad movie in bed until Regina passes out, and Regina’s half asleep by the time Emma clinks her glass against hers and grins at Henry. “Have a good night.” 

 

“Right,” Henry says, still staring at them. “You guys are  _weird_ , you know that?” He retreats, shutting the door behind him, and Emma snatches away Regina’s glass before her eyes can drift closed.

 

“Uh-uh. We have a stakeout. I know Friday night wine is your narcoleptic.”

 

“I’m going to need a lot more of it to deal with you for the next few hours,” Regina mutters, but she stretches out under the comforter and watches Emma as she shuts off the light.

 

“Relax,” she says, sliding under the comforter beside Regina and watching Regina stiffen. “It’s not like we haven’t done this hundreds of times.” Her eyes are the first thing Regina sees when her eyes adjust to the dark, gleaming at Regina with a defiant cast to them. 

 

Their hands brush against each other under the blanket and Regina is the first to retract hers. “And you’re…you’re comfortable with that?” she says, her eyes narrowed. “With any of this?” 

 

She can feel Emma’s shoulders hunch, see her eyes drop. Can hear her shallow breathing in time with Regina’s own breath. “Everyone keeps telling me this isn’t your fault,” Regina says, staring at the ceiling. “But I don’t see how it isn’t when it was all about your happiness.” 

 

“Was it so terrible?” Emma whispers, and her voice is small and vulnerable again. A month ago, Regina would have taken her into her arms and kissed her just below her earlobe where it makes her shiver. A month ago, Emma would have curled up against Regina and listened to her heartbeat as she’d drifted off to sleep. “Getting to be happy together?” 

 

Tonight, they lie stiffly on a bed too small for the two of them, side-by-side with a yawning gulf of words unspoken between them. Emma shifts to lie on her side and Regina reaches to her, brushes the tips of her fingers against Emma’s forehead as Emma inhales shakily. And her eyes still glitter like they had in the moment before the curse had taken them. Regina whispers back, “Did we ever have a choice?”

 

Emma doesn’t answer. Bright, bright eyes gleam in the darkness and Regina strokes Emma's forehead and can’t tear away her eyes or fingers or heart until Emma’s clock is displaying three o’clock in the morning and Regina jerks awake. “Dammit!” she hisses, poking Emma hard.

 

Emma yawns, squinting up at her like she can’t quite remember where she is. “Babe? What’s wrong?” 

 

“I will set you on fire,” Regina hisses, scrambling out of the bed. She stalks across the room in the dark, throws open the door, and tiptoes to Henry’s room.

 

There’s a lump under the blanket but the window’s open, and Regina crosses the room in three quick steps and uncovers Henry’s overnight bag tucked beneath his comforter. “He’s gone,” Emma says from the doorway. It isn’t a question.

 

“We fell asleep.” Her first impulse is to rage, to turn on Emma and blame her for losing Henry. But that impulse has never served her well. “I can’t–” She closes her eyes and moves to the window, searching with all her magic for their son. And there’s nothing, only a faint presence that fades at the woods. “I can’t find him.” 

 

Emma stands rigid behind her. “What?” 

 

“No, it’s–“ She shuts her eyes again, casting out a glow that fades when it touches the woods. “Whatever the Lost Boys are doing, magic won’t work in the woods anymore.”

 

“Then I’ll take my gun out there,” Emma says, turning for the door. 

 

And Regina’s gripped with a memory of another time– of Emma running from their bed into the woods after the station had gotten complaints about the Lost Boys, about her vanishing for the remainder of the night and the panic and the way she’d returned bruised and bloody– “ _No_ ,” she says sharply, and Emma looks at her askance. 

 

“He’ll be back,” she says, sinking down onto Henry's bed. That’s the one thing that she’s certain of, that never changes with the boys who disappear in Storybrooke. “In the morning.”

 

Emma huddles down beside her. “He’s always there in the morning.” Regina leans against her arm, shivering in the cool air that wafts in from the window, and Emma silently wraps Henry’s blanket around them both as they wait.

 

* * *

 

Somehow, she falls asleep again. She hadn’t thought she would.

 

She’s wrapped in the blanket when she awakens, her head resting on Emma’s lap and Emma’s hand cupping the back of it, and Emma murmurs, “Sunrise. He’s coming back in.” 

 

That’s why she’d awakened. There’s a sound of scrabbling at the window, a hand reaching over the ledge; and Henry tumbles into the room– no,  _hovers_ , the gleam of pixie dust around him as he moves through the window– and he lands on the ground in a crouch.

 

He stares up at them. “Moms? What are you doing in my room?”

 

“What are  _we_ doing?” Emma demands. “What the hell are you doing?” 

 

Henry’s eyes darken. “That’s what this is about?  _Spying on me_? I thought you two had finally gotten your act together?” He’s bristling with indignation, the kind that Regina would have met with her own indignation a couple of years ago. Today, the fear that had been gone during the second curse has returned in full force and she can’t bring herself to start a fight with him under those accusing eyes. 

 

Emma takes the mantle, surging forward. “Peter Pan is locked up in the asylum. The Lost Boys are disbanded. How long have you been going out to the woods? What are you doing there?” She turns to Regina, seeking backup, and Regina stiffens.

 

Henry sees it too and his eyes glow with victory. “It’s none of your  _business_ ,” he snaps. “Every other boy in town goes out at night, too. We’re  _fine_.” 

 

Emma shakes her head disbelievingly. “You never did before!” 

 

“Yeah, well, I was happy here before you and Mom decided to be idiots about this whole thing,” he says, and he’s angrier now, an adolescent with a chip on his shoulder like he’d aged into his teenage years over the course of two weeks. “But now you can’t even be in the same room unless it’s about  _punishing_ me, so you know what? I’m done.” There’s still pixie dust glittering around him, the aftereffects in his voice and face, and he stands up. “And you can just fuck off.” 

 

Emma flinches. “That’s  _enough_ , Henry,” Regina says, her voice sharp, and his jaw sets as he stares at her. She forces herself to remain still, her spine straight and her eyes flashing, and the defiance surges in Henry’s eyes but he doesn’t say a word. “You’re grounded. You will not leave this house until Monday morning, and you will come back home– to Mifflin Street–“ She stumbles over the words. “Monday after school. You will not go to the woods again.” She flicks her wrist and a barrier shimmers around the windows of the room. 

 

Henry glares at her and spits out, vitriol in every word, “ _I hate you._ ” 

 

She reels back and Emma puts a hand on her arm, glaring right back at Henry as he storms from the room and slams the bathroom door. “He’s jumped up on pixie dust and whatever the Lost Boys do in the woods,” she murmurs. “He doesn’t mean it.”

 

“He always meant it,” Regina mutters, her eyes on the door. “And this…adjustment has been…” 

 

“Rough. Yeah.” Emma stands. “I’ll go talk to him.” 

 

“He’ll need some time. Let me do it first,” Regina says, because  _this_ Henry she knows better than Emma ever will. They can commiserate together over their lost happy endings when Regina isn’t around, still the villain who’d torn it apart instead of–

 

She waits until Emma’s digging through boxes in the pantry, searching for cereal, before she knocks on the bathroom door. “It’s Mom,” she says, hesitant, and there’s a pause before Henry mutters, “Come in.”

 

He’s sitting on the floor in front of the toilet, green with nausea instead of pixie dust, and she rests a hand on his back as he vomits into the toilet. “I don’t know,” he whimpers when he’s done retching, and he burrows into her side like he’s a tiny child again. “I can’t remember any of it anymore. I don’t…I don’t know what’s happening to me.” 

 

The curse lances out like a spiderweb, drawing terrible new endings for them even after its center has been broken. “We’re going to figure it out,” she murmurs, holding him tightly. Emma drifts to the door, their eyes locking in determination toward the one thing they’ll always agree on, through curses and loathing and despair. “I promise.”


	2. II

It had been an ordinary day at the stables on the afternoon that the book had come to Regina. Emma had driven over in the patrol car with takeout and they’d perched on the hood of the car in the parking lot outside the stables, watching students train with their horses.  _They’ve got nothing on Henry,_ Regina had insisted, and Emma had laughed.

 

_I know we both keep rose-tinted glasses firmly on around Henry, but he can barely stay upright on your horses,_ she’d pointed out, and Regina had poked her hard and scowled in mock outrage. And maybe it had been a fair assessment, but she’d been proudly, stubbornly certain that her son could do anything. 

 

She’d lifted her face to the sun and then shifted back to Emma, and Emma had pressed a hand to her cheek and said  _You’re so beautiful_ with shining eyes. Regina had turned to kiss her palm and she’d noticed a shadow moving in the stables and paused.

 

She'd shrugged it off as one of her junior instructors and bidden Emma goodbye for the afternoon. It hadn’t been until an hour later when she’d been brushing down one of the older mares that she’d noticed a book poking out from under a bale of hay.

 

_Once Upon a Time,_ it had read, and Regina had flipped it open with a furrowed brow. She’d seen an image of her own house– of someone who’d looked vaguely like herself crouched down beside Henry, of Emma standing behind them uncomfortably– and it had been all the same as it had been when Henry had first brought Emma home to Regina.

 

But instead of the tentative stirrings of attraction and eventually love, the book had painted a war between them, a fairytale gone perverse that had spanned worlds and years and…

 

…And somehow, there’d been a truth to it that she couldn’t name. It had left a tiny black mark in her chest that had grown and grown over weeks of everything being  _not quite right_. She’d felt sick at the thought of it– like a betrayal of Emma, contemplating a world where none of this had been easy and there’d been no love to hold onto– and she’d lain awake at night and pushed it away until she’d finally given up and spoken to Emma and Henry.

 

She still remembers now Emma’s face when Regina had broached her suspicions, far less credulous than Henry’s but so trusting it had made Regina’s heart ache.  _I…don’t really understand it,_ she’d murmured.  _But if it’s something that you need to deal with, I’m with you._ She’d kissed Regina’s cheek and Regina had held onto her tightly, unwilling to let go just yet until Henry had touched the book and his memories had returned. 

 

They’d faced Peter Pan together; Henry their guide and Emma with her gun and somehow still it had come down to Regina in the end. She’d pursued Pan through the woods on horseback, had knocked him out a moment before he’d unleashed the Lost Boys, and she’d immobilized him just as a Lost Boy had knocked her out with magical dust that shouldn’t have existed at all during the curse.

 

Henry had kissed her awake and broken another curse. Regina had opened her eyes to Emma’s worried gaze and forgotten for just a moment– but it hadn’t been enough to drown out the memories crashing over her. Emma had tried to help her up and Regina had pushed her away and then, finally, Pan had been taken to the asylum.

 

“He should be dead,” Whale says, shaking his head at them as they walk through the hospital, sneaking glances at each other before they turn back to the doctor. “That’s what doesn’t make sense. He returned from Neverland with barely enough life force to cast the curse and he was frozen in time during it, but he should be dead now. It’s been two weeks.” 

 

“So you think he’s still up to something.” Emma has her thumbs hooked into her jeans, deceptively calm. Regina can see the subtle tension in her movements, the discomfort that comes with inaction when they could be  _punching someone._ “But you won’t let us see him.” 

 

“He’s under round-the-clock observation. He hasn’t done anything.” Whale fixes them both with a frown. “But I have an ethical duty to keep him away from anyone who might harm him…impulsively.” Emma shifts guiltily. Regina finds the wall beside them suddenly fascinating. “I’m not compromising this study on your  _hunch_.” 

 

“Never try to take a medical marvel from Doctor Frankenstein,” Emma mutters when they’re out of the hospital. She winces. “Has anyone told you recently that this town is fucked up?” 

 

“Only you,” Regina says. It comes out more fondly than she’d intended, and she glowers and says hastily, “I have work to do,” as she makes a sharp turn from the hospital toward the cemetery.

 

She buries herself in her vault for the remainder of the day, unwilling to dwell on how easy it is, sometimes, with Emma. Emma is a reluctant ally at best. Emma is the reason she’d rather sit in a dank, dark vault instead of at the home she’d shared with her son ( _and wife,_ a nasty voice within reminds her) that is now empty and hollow. Emma is the reason she’d lost all agency, and she can handle this new mystery without being  _partners_. 

 

But there are no answers in her books, not this weekend. There’s only silence and loneliness and a panicky phone call Sunday morning at six am from Emma. “I fell asleep again. I screwed up. And Henry isn’t telling me if he–“ She sucks in a breath and sounds on the verge of tears. “Regina, I swear, I spent the whole night drinking coffee. I’ve done dozens of all-nighter stakeouts and never passed out once.” 

 

Regina hangs up the phone and teleports to Emma’s apartment. Emma's still talking into the phone, her face pale and drawn, and she jumps when Regina strides past her. “Regina, wait! I need to–“

 

“Henry,” Regina barks out. He’s propped up in his bed, and there’s no sign of pixie dust this time beyond the defiance on his face. “I put up a barrier!”

 

He shrugs sullenly. “I guess that means I didn’t go anywhere then.”

 

“You’re grounded.” 

 

“You’ve said.” He stares up at her and she struggles to think back to the day before– how long had it taken before he’d been himself again? How much longer until– had he ever been himself yesterday at all? He’s been withdrawn and angry since the curse had broken and she’d thought it had been how he _coped_ , not–

 

Emma takes over, as she does whenever the air gets too hostile between them. “Henry, we just don’t understand  _why_. When Pan was free– when we were all  _cursed_ , you never went to the woods. Why now?” 

 

Henry’s jaw is outthrust now, his hands squeezing into his comforter. “I don’t know,” he says stubbornly, something spiteful flashing in his eyes. “I never went before you two decided to make me miserable.” 

 

Regina is taken aback. “We didn’t–“

 

“You took away my happy ending!” The accusation is almost childish, almost vicious, cutting her deep. He jabs a finger at Regina. “You!” She stares at him, aghast at his fury and pain, and a landscape unfurls before her of resentment and  _I found my real mom!_ and apple turnovers and Henry hating her all the way through. Oh, god, she can’t do this again. She can’t be Henry’s– she can’t–

 

She stands immobile as fresh tears threaten to erupt and Emma intervenes, a hand on Regina’s elbow that Regina shrugs off. “Hey, cut it out,” she says firmly. “Your mom is dealing with enough right now. She doesn’t need a guilt trip on top of it.” 

 

“Why not?” Henry demands. This isn’t him except that it  _is_ , except that it hadn’t been for six months but maybe before that it had been manipulation and resentment and burning fury with his mothers. And he turns on Emma with the same. “You’re obviously still into her,” he says. Emma presses her lips together tightly. “ _She’s_ the one who’s screwing this up for us.” 

 

She will not be angry with Henry. Regina will not sacrifice years of hard work because they’ve been sabotaged by the Lost Boys. But instead of fury, only worn weariness remains as Emma argues back. “Okay, nighttime kidnappings or not, that’s no excuse to act like an assho– like a brat,” she amends, glancing at Regina, and how does she  _do_ this, making Regina want to laugh through her tears with that alarmed look.

 

Henry is unfazed. “Yeah? What, you didn’t raise me this way?” His voice rises mockingly as he turns on Emma. “You didn’t raise me at all.”

 

Emma stands firm. “That’s right. Your mother did. And you don’t get to attack her because you didn’t get what you want.” 

 

Henry smiles, mirthless, his eyes and voice too old to be _him_. “It’s cute how you decided you care about that now that you’re in love with her.” Emma flinches visibly, taking two steps back as her eyes widen in distress. 

 

Regina finds her voice. “Henry,  _enough_.” She exchanges a glance with Emma, the unspoken communication enough. “Pack up your things. We’re going home.” 

 

“Fine.” He’s a stranger today, one who’d lash out at Emma when he’s only ever used her as a weapon against Regina. He’s a  _Lost Boy_ , and Regina’s sick when she escapes from the room to the kitchen, jamming open a window so she can breathe. 

 

“We have to talk to Pan,” Emma says, hoisting herself up onto the counter beside her. “I’m not going to stand by and watch Henry morph into one of those kids.”

 

“I’ll watch over him tonight.” Regina refuses to look at Emma again. “I’ll sit next to his bed all whole night if I have to.” 

 

Emma’s hand is at the periphery of her line of vision, drumming against the counter. “Listen, about what he said…” 

 

And the reason why it cuts so deep is that it’s all true. “I’m not going to talk about that.” She can’t dwell on what she’d taken from Henry by keeping herself intact. She can’t count  _this_ as a failing because if she starts, she’ll be drowning before she can take another breath.

 

“But he’s right,” Emma says, and Regina looks up at her in outrage. Emma doesn’t seem to notice. “I wasn’t…I wasn’t exactly a supportive co-mom in our real memories,” she mutters, and Regina nearly breathes a sigh of relief. Emma’s honing in on Henry’s barbs at herself, not at Regina. “And it was an asshole move. I was selfish. Deep down, I guess I was hoping you’d wind up being the villain–“ 

 

“I was,” Regina says dully. 

 

“Not Henry’s villain.” Emma’s fingers are twisting together, knotting and unknotting as she speaks. “I wanted a reason to break all the rules so I turned a blind eye when Henry treated you like shit and I screwed up everything.” 

 

She sounds genuinely regretful, offering an apology that’s been a long time coming. Regina stares at her and wants to demand  _why now, why this_ , but instead she’s saying, “Why the hell are you okay with us?” and caught in Emma’s earnest gaze.

 

Emma says, “Us. You mean what Henry said–“

 

“Henry said a lot of things.” Regina presses her teeth into each other, hard enough to grind. “I don’t understand how you’re so  _comfortable_ with any of what happened to us.” 

 

“I’m not?” But Emma’s voice falters and she shakes her head as though to clear it. “I’m really, really not. You’re not the only one who’s spent most of her life with no control over any of it, okay? And it’s…this isn’t the first time I’ve been given a perfect family and had it snatched away.” Regina knows about Emma’s past– from a curse and a background check and a few nights murmuring together in Neverland– and she takes a step back and feels too much and nothing at once. Emma sighs wearily. “And I hate Pan for doing that to you and for doing it to me, but I can’t hate you over it.” 

 

“You hated me before,” Regina points out.

 

Emma smiles at her, eyes wet and bright. “I never hated you.” 

 

And Regina can’t remember hating her either, this fixture in her life who still has power over her heart with a smile. She’s drawn to it– longing for it desperately, for the six months when everything had been  _right_ and  _happy_ and Henry had been…

 

…and all she has to do to recapture that is to lean in, lips against that sunshine smile, and–

 

There are fingers pressed to her mouth and the sunshine smile has faded into grey clouds. “Stop,” Emma whispers. Regina gapes at her. Emma blinks away the wetness in her eyes, but it gleams there again a moment later.

 

“I thought you wanted me,” Regina croaks, her heart ashes in her chest. 

 

Emma breathes too quickly and it emerges a sob. “I do. I really, really do. But you’re not doing this because you want me. And I’m not going to let you choose misery again just because Henry demands it.” She’s earnest and knowing, eyes sharp but never cutting, and the room around them is suddenly too small and the air within it oppressively heavy. 

 

Emma reaches for her. Regina is humiliated and angry and so brittle that a touch would shatter her. “Go to hell,” she grits out, and storms out the door to wait for Henry in the hallway, still breathing hard.

 

* * *

 

Archie rearranges all his support group meetings and schedules smaller ones so Emma and Regina won’t overlap. And so Regina reluctantly arrives early at the Sunday afternoon appointment and sits down in a chair, legs crossed and eyes wary as others file in.

 

Marco is there again; but so is Kathryn this time, and Regina avoids her probing gaze and watches Archie instead. She recognizes the woman from last week and a teenager who’d babysat Henry once or twice during the first curse, but the other two townspeople present are strangers. 

 

It’s an easier group and a more difficult one at the same time. Marco talks about Pinocchio again and one of the strangers talks about his son. “I don’t understand,” Marco says. “Every night, I try to stay awake to follow him. And every night, I’ll fall asleep and he’ll be gone if I wake up again.” 

 

“That’s what–“ Regina starts, and the rest of them turn to her. She can feel heat on her cheeks. “That’s what’s been happening with Henry,” she admits, and Marco cocks his head and watches her with eyes that don’t probe as much as wonder. She dares to meet his eyes. “I don’t think it’s your fault,” she ventures. “I think it’s part of…whatever’s calling them into the woods.” 

 

“Is the sheriff looking into it?” the first man demands. Regina doesn’t like his tone when he talks about Emma, the barely contained derision. 

 

“We both are,” she says tightly, and Marco puts a hand on the other man’s hand and murmurs something that has him ducking his head, eyes wary but subdued.

 

Archie clears his throat. “I can imagine that there’s…a certain degree of helplessness that comes with watching your sons disappear,” he prods. All three of them nod. “Has it strained your relationships with them?” 

 

He’s looking at Regina and she has no choice but to nod again. “Henry’s…regressing,” she admits at last. “He’s angry at me.” 

 

“At you.” It’s Kathryn who speaks up, and Regina’s fingers tighten against her knee. But she’s expressionless, not accusing but not comforting, either. “You aren’t the one who’s sending him into the woods.” 

 

Why exactly is Kathryn here? She hadn’t come to the last two meetings. It’s been over a year since they’d last spoken– since Kathryn had bidden her goodbye and thanked her for being a  _good friend_ and then had driven off to be kidnapped and held hostage for Regina’s vengeance. Regina had expected her to be in the mob that had stormed her house after the curse– had expected confrontation or to be turned to solid gold by a vengeful father– but instead, there’d been nothing but silence until today. 

 

Archie responds when Regina can’t. “Henry is angry about things beyond his control. We lash out at easier targets when it comes down to that– people we know will forgive us.” 

 

Regina shivers (sunshine smiles and Emma’s fingers fiddling with each other and  _I never hated you_ ) and all she says is, “Maybe so.”

 

The room is quiet until Archie breaks the silence, turning to Kathryn. “Abigail,” he says. “Why don’t you tell the room why you’re here?” 

 

She glances at Regina again, and Regina can’t look away. “I was married during the second curse,” she says calmly, and Regina’s eyebrows shoot up. “Peter Pan didn’t have much originality. I was married to Frederick, of course, not wrapped up in the Snow White Adventures.” There’s a hint of disdain in her voice. She’d been one of Regina’s favorite princesses even when she’d only been a distant princess of Midas’s kingdom, no-nonsense and with little patience for dreamy-eyed princesses searching for their prince. 

 

“Weren’t you already married?” Regina says, curiosity winning out over her discomfort.

 

Kathryn shakes her head. “I never wanted to marry. And in this land, I was finally able to escape that fate. I love Frederick, but I had never intended to…” She sighs heavily. “And now it’s done.” 

 

“You feel trapped,” Regina guesses, leaning forward. “Marriage in the old world was never much of a choice. And now…” 

 

Kathryn nods tightly. “I love Frederick,” she says again. “And I still want to run away to Boston again. Not that that worked out very well last time.” A flash of humor, the accusation a casual reminder rather than a weapon to hurt. A gleam of understanding.

 

And Regina’s defenses are crumbling at the kindness in Kathryn’s eyes; on Archie’s face and in Marco’s gaze and even in the eyes of the teen whose name she can’t remember. “I tried to kiss Emma earlier,” she blurts out. Marco smiles. Kathryn quirks an eyebrow. “She didn’t want it. She said I was doing it because Henry wants us to be…to be a family again.” 

 

“Were you?” Archie asks gently.

 

Trapped. She feels trapped again, and she shakes her head and nods and scrubs at her face and says, “She didn’t want it. Does it matter?” 

 

“Your choices matter,” the woman from last week says, winding her fingers through her long ponytail. “If you’re not the one making them, then both of you will come to resent whoever made those choices for you.” 

 

Archie takes one look at Regina’s face and changes the subject, turning to the woman– Jasmine, Regina manages to put together after a mental run-through of the Disney movies at home– and inquiring about her health after a Lost Boys encounter. Regina sits in silence, watching Kathryn across the room as Kathryn watches her, and there’s a moment of…well. Not forgiveness. She knows better than to expect  _that_. But Kathryn nods and Regina nods and they don’t talk after the session is over.

 

It’s Marco who catches up to her as she’s exiting Archie’s office. “I know we aren’t meant to talk about what happens in the meetings,” he says, and she blinks up at him. His eyes are serious but warm, and he reminds her too much of…

 

She swallows around the lump in her throat. “Yes?” 

 

“We both have our regrets, I think.” And his own face is as guilty as hers. “I put my boy in that wardrobe to save him, and Emma Swan grew up an orphan.” 

 

“You saved him from my curse,” Regina points out tiredly. “This all comes down to me in the end.” 

 

“He calls me cruel for it now,” Marco says. “He hates me. He tells me I wished August away. He lies and he strikes out and he’s only a boy.” He takes Regina’s hands in his own and she shivers. “Henry is under the same spell. That boy…you raised him well. He’s a good one. He would never want you to suffer for him.” 

 

She’s overwhelmed, terrified and lost and his hands around hers are her anchor. “Thank you,” she whispers hoarsely, blinking back tears as they spring up. She struggles to find her voice but it only emerges half-formed. “I…I swear, I’m going to do everything in my power to save Pinocchio and the others. Whatever you think of me, please believe that.” 

 

“I do,” Marco says, and he raises one of her hands to his lips. It’s a relic of the old world, and she’d found it insipid and tiresome until this moment, Marco’s eyes gentle with faith as he gazes back up at her. “Go,” he murmurs. “Do what you need to do.” 

 

* * *

 

Time passes.

 

Regina sleeps in a folding chair next to Henry’s bed every night for the next week, and every night she wakes up with a start to an empty bed and Emma’s three o’clock phone call. Henry is more distant with each passing day, all snarls and cutting remarks and only flickers of despair, and Regina is helpless to stop it. 

 

Snow has taken to hovering over her at home, bringing over croissants from Granny’s– ( _It’s offensive,_ she hisses.  _Do you have any idea what a phenomenal baker I am?_ Snow knows, but she also knows that Regina sneaks Granny’s croissants like Emma used to sneak bearclaws, both of them hiding pastries in cabinets until Henry had found both their hiding places and eaten them all. Snow knows too much)– and with question after question about raising a baby in Storybrooke. Regina answers her, too tired to try pushing her away.

 

Archie’s meetings are easier now, the atmosphere more focused on recovery than exposure, and Regina finds herself looking forward to them. “You got the good group,” Emma grumbles when they have a meeting after the next weekend on the Lost Boy situation. “Mine is just Leroy grouching about everything that’s gone wrong since the curse and making snide comments about you.” They sit on opposite sides of the desk today, Emma’s spine rigid and her eyes downturned. Regina twiddles her fingers and is instantly irritated with herself at how inane it is.

 

They haven’t talked since that morning in Emma’s kitchen a week a before. Oh, they’ve coordinated Henry’s schedule and sent leads to each other and gone together to the woods one morning after a false report of Lost Boys still out after dawn, but it’s been strictly business and it’ll continue to be strictly business now. Regina refuses to dwell on any of this.

 

Henry. They’re here for Henry. “Whale has a medical conference today out of town,” Regina says. “He’s very smug about it. He’s due for an award of some sort?” She frowns. “Odd, considering that our town shouldn’t even exist on a map.” 

 

“Maybe that changed after the curse,” Emma offers in a deadpan. “Or maybe the whole thing is a hoax I cooked up last week to get him away from his new favorite patient.” 

 

Regina’s lips curl into a smirk. “I guess we’ll never know.” Emma beams at her and a dozen shadows fade from Regina's heart at once. A different tension rises through her instead, compressing her chest and her throat, and the smirk fades from her face. “Very well,” she says, her hands hovering protectively in front of her abdomen. Emma’s eyes flicker over the desk to them for a moment. “We should…” 

 

“Yeah.” Emma ducks her head and stands, holding the door open for Regina as they head for her car.

 

There’s something comforting about that hideous yellow bug. Regina had flat-out refused to ride in it during the second curse and Emma had readily taken the Mercedes around with her, but it had been a fixture in Emma’s life pre-curse and sitting in it feels authentic as so little does lately. 

 

And Emma must feel the same, because the tired lines from her face fade and she murmurs, “Listen, I’ve been thinking–“ 

 

“You? Really?” 

 

Emma quirks a brow but doesn’t contest it. “We don’t have to keep avoiding each other. I mean, we were almost friends before, weren’t we?” 

 

“Friends,” Regina repeats warily.

 

Emma’s eyes are fixed on the road. “Whatever we went through during the curse…it doesn’t have to matter, right? And it’ll be easier on Henry and on both of us if we can just  _talk_ again.” She pauses at a stop sign and fixes an expectant gaze on Regina.

 

Regina says, “Yes,” before she can think again. She clears her throat. “That is…if you think it’s possible.” 

 

Emma’s brow furrows. “You don’t?” 

 

She can’t explain that, only amend it. “If you think you can handle it,” she shoots instead at Emma and doesn’t know why she had except that the part of her that freezes up around Emma still hasn’t defrosted. 

 

Emma scoffs. “Please. You’re no Maleficent.” 

 

“Excuse me?” Regina says, outraged. “I’m a thousand times the woman Maleficent is!” 

 

“Maybe the Enchanted Forest version.” Emma sits back, smug. “You’ve got nothing on Angelina Jolie.” 

 

Regina is unaccountably offended. “How dare you,” she sneers, turning to the window. 

 

Emma catches her hand and tugs her back around. “I mean, you’re definitely sexier than her,” she says. Her eyes sweep over Regina hungrily and Regina is mollified. “But she has wings. And can breathe fire.” 

 

How  _dare_ she. “Do you really think breathing fire is an  _advantage_ in this case?” Regina demands. She has plenty of firsthand knowledge of exactly how far Emma’s kinks go, and  _that_ level of fire play is…

 

Emma’s eyes widen with sudden realization. “Wait a minute,” she says, her hand tightening on Regina’s. “You…she…” Regina’s eyes narrow. “You sent me to slay your ex, didn’t you,” Emma accuses. “That’s cold as  _fuck_.” 

 

“That’s completely irrelevant,” Regina says, flushing. “The point is, I can obviously breathe fire, too. I just choose to make fire in more sensible places.” She draws a fireball out of her free hand and Emma yelps.

 

“Not in the car!” But they’re pulling into the hospital parking lot now, and this has been the first time since the curse that Regina hasn’t been overwhelmed around Emma. Emma offers her a tentative smile. “See? We can do the…casual friends thing okay.” 

 

Regina blinks at her. “We’ve been holding hands since we left Town Hall.” 

 

“Right.” Emma snatches her hand away, flustered. “Uh.”

 

Regina squeezes her fingers into her palm and is suddenly desperate for another fireball to burn away the sensation. “We should go. To the asylum.” 

 

“The asylum,” Emma agrees, fleeing the car.

 

Without Whale hovering, it’s easy enough to wave off his security and break through the locks around Pan’s cell with their magic. There had been some accusations about abuse of power from the mayor and sheriff offices over the years and they’re supposed to be working on  _goodwill_ now, but Regina’s never been very good at that, anyway. Let the townspeople hold it against them after their sons are saved. 

 

And Pan smiles up at them like he’s been expecting them. “How is Henry?” he says before they can speak. “I always did have a soft spot for that boy.” 

 

Regina seethes. “You took his heart and left him for dead,” Emma says, unimpressed.

 

Pan shrugs. “Gotta do what you gotta do to survive, am I right?” He winks at Regina. “A grandson here, a dad there–“ 

 

Regina’s hand is surging forward before she can summon up any will to stop it, and Emma grabs it. “Not yet,” she murmurs, breath warm against Regina’s ear. “We need him.”

 

“We need him  _dead_.” 

 

Pan smirks at her, insouciant. “You keep trying that but it doesn’t seem to have worked out well for you, has it?” He ponders for a moment, fingers twitching against his chin mockingly. “Or has it? I gave you a fairytale ending. You’d think you’d be a bit more grateful.” 

 

Regina jerks away from Emma. “You took away our choices,” she growls. “I may have done it before you, but I never sugar coated it as anything better than that.” 

 

Pan cocks his head. “I gave you the family you’ve always wanted.” It’s a parody of her mother’s insistences, of standing before a mirror with a wedding dress on as she stares into an empty future.

 

(She hadn’t worn a bulky, constricting dress in the wedding she recalls with Emma. They’d married last summer in her backyard in simple white dresses and with only a few close friends present, and she'd thought then that it had been her only marriage. It had felt cleansing anyway, safe and  _right_ to be dancing in Emma’s and Henry’s arms, and she’d felt so free that she might have floated away.

 

It had all been a lie, someone else’s perverse reimagining of her existence, and she’s sick at the violation of even her barest emotions when she remembers it now.)

 

“You forced me into something I’d  _never_ wanted,” Regina hisses. “You  _violated_  me.”

 

Pan sighs expansively. “If I’d known you’d be so tetchy about it, I’d have saved my gifts for someone more worthwhile.” He leers at Emma for a moment. She stares back, emotionless. “I could have seen what it is all the fuss in Neverland was about.” He springs forward from the bed he’d been seated on, trailing fingers across Emma’s stiff features. “Taken a little Lost Girl to be my bride inst–“ 

 

Regina sees red. She’s in motion in an instant, her hand outstretched again but this time without calling forth any magic. Instead she wants to  _hurt_ , to make Pan  _pay_ , to  _shut him up_ –

 

She wraps her fingers around his thin neck and forces him against the wall, watching his eyes bulge out as he struggles against her iron grip. “Stay the hell away from her! You stay–“ Arms catch her around her sides, sliding up to her shoulders as she squeezes hard. The boyish grin is fading under the strain of Regina’s stranglehold, transforming into too-loose skin pockmarked with age and decay, and Regina senses victory with fierce hatred and pushes onward even as strong hands tug her back.

 

“Regina!  _Regina!_ ” Emma is shouting when she finally manages to pull them apart. Pan is bones and skin on the ground as he falls, decrepit and faded, and Regina can’t tear her eyes from him.

 

“He– He–“ She surges toward him again but Emma has her in her hold now, unyielding. “Stop it!” 

 

“I’m not going to let you kill him!”

 

“Why the  _fuck_  not?” Regina demands, whirling around. Emma loosens her grip to let her move, hands digging into Regina's shoulder blades in a faux embrace. “You know he deserves it! You know  _I_ deserved it and I–“ She breathes in, shuts her eyes. “He took everything from us.” 

 

“Yeah,” Emma murmurs, and she’s stroking Regina’s back soothingly now, wary eyes on Pan as he convulses on the ground. “But I won’t let him sabotage your redemption.” And  _oh_ , this is a hug, Emma’s head leaning against Regina’s shoulder and Regina’s ire fading without explanation. “Okay? This isn’t how we deal with the bad guys.”

 

“Maybe it isn’t how you do it,” Regina mutters, but she breathes more evenly now, resigned to nonviolence. Wisps of Emma’s hair are tickling at her neck and her hands are warm, and it’s comfortable in a way that it absolutely should not be.

 

She tears away from Emma and Emma says, eyes still glued on Pan, “I see what you mean. That casual friends thing isn’t going to work, is it?”

 

“Nothing is _going to work_ for us,” Regina retorts dully. “I could have told you that weeks ago.” 

 

“Regina.” Emma finally turns away from Pan, her eyes pleading. “You act like you hate me– like I’m the one who did this to us and you resent me all the time. And then you nearly maul Pan for me.” She clears her throat. “Well, not  _for me_ , I mean…you’ve clearly got other beef with him, but…That’s a lot of mixed signals, you know?” 

 

“Is now really the right time for this conversation, Miss Swan?” Regina says sharply, watching Pan instead. He’s stopped moving, decay happening swiftly, and he’s beginning to glow green. 

 

Emma says, defeated, “I guess not.” 

 

The green light is getting brighter, filtering in through the wall and surrounding Pan in a mist that grows thicker and thicker with each passing moment. Emma stumbles backward, her hand reaching for Regina’s, and they flatten themselves against a wall as the green magic billows outward around Pan. Regina throws up a shield, protecting them from it, and when it finally clears, Pan is sitting crosslegged against the wall, young again. “Nice to see you, ladies,” he says. “You’d best be going now.” 

 

They can hear Whale’s irritable voice in the hallway and Regina flicks her wrist, transporting them both back into the Bug.

 

It’s dusk, the sun setting around them, and Emma says, “The Lost Boys will be in the woods by now.” 

 

“Not Henry.” 

 

“Not yet,” Emma says grimly, and another clue slots into space.


	3. III

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> pressed for time but thank you for all the feedback omg, i've been tense about last chapter (and this one actually lmao) and you've all been wonderful. will reply later today when i'm back home but i wanted this out before new distractions arose! enjoy!
> 
> also don't talk to me about the chapter count changing i'M TERRIBLE ik but i just want to do this story justice omg. ok bye!!

“What we can infer is that somehow, Peter Pan is feeding off the energy that the Lost Boys are churning up in the woods,” Regina says, pacing back and forth in the station. “It might be their own life forces that he’s using to keep himself young now. Bit by bit, that’s going to steal years off these kids’ lives.”

 

Snow says, “Do you think that’s where Gold has been?”

 

Regina shakes her head, certain at least of this. “I think Gold got the hell out of town with his son and his girlfriend before the curse hit and never returned.” 

 

“He came back once,” Emma says suddenly. They blink at her. “I saw him lurking around the stables one day during…during lunch.” Her cheeks tint a light red and Regina looks away. “I didn’t know who he was during the curse. Figured he was someone’s rich grandpa. Didn’t realize he was Henry’s.” 

 

“The book.” It’s too close to be a coincidence. “He wanted us to break the curse but didn’t want to get his hands dirty.” 

 

“Sounds like Gold,” Emma agrees. Their gazes meet for an instant, Emma’s eyes still burning into Regina, and Regina can feel heat rise in her own eyes in return. 

 

It’s been a tense hour while they’d returned to the station and coordinated with Snow and David; rife with unfinished sentences and sidelong glances. Regina bites back humiliation at how she’d rushed to Emma’s defense with arrogance at the idea that it could mean anything, and Emma is closing in on herself, defensive walls rising and more than one longing gaze at the exit. Regina says, “Can you tell us what–“ and halts, fearful what might be revealed.

 

“What happened that day? Sure,” Emma says, licking dry lips. “Uh. It was…I don’t remember what we talked about. We ate lunch on the hood of the patrol car and watched the horses.” Snow’s eyes are getting dangerously misty. “I got a grilled cheese and you ate the whole thing.” She grins, lost in the moment, and Regina can’t look away as she finally recalls the aftermath of  _that_. 

 

“That grilled cheese was terrible.” 

 

Emma’s eyes are still bright when she cocks her head at Regina. “It was  _amazing._ You knew you’d be sick for the rest of the night and you still admitted it was worth it.” She had. She’d spent enough of that night doubled over with cramping from Granny’s second-rate cheese to swear off grilled cheese for good, and Emma had curled up next to her with a hot water bottle pressed to Regina’s stomach and a dozen ridiculous stories about her day to distract her.

 

It’s funny, really. For all the times they’d slept together during the curse (and each one was a  _violation_ , she reminds herself, and refuses to think about pale skin and Emma arching beneath her and kisses and touches that had gone on for hours with each new crescendo of pleasure), it had been the cuddling that had been most intimate. Regina had had her share of lovers but she’d never before derived any comfort from casual embraces, Emma’s arms wrapped around her and their bodies pressed together without any expectation of more.

 

Her eyes drift across Emma’s body again, remembering curves and lips and skin on skin, and she aches viscerally for her touch again. She brings her gaze upward into Emma’s shadowed eyes and remembers instead the moment of horror when the curse had broken. It’s fuzzy now while the memory of that day weeks before it is clear, and she swallows hard at the unfairness of it all.

 

“Henry,” she says, her voice hoarse with tears that will never fall. “We talked about Henry that day.” 

 

“We always talk about Henry,” Emma whispers, and there’s warmth in her gaze when there’d been heat before. The warmth is harder.

 

It’s a relief when David clears his throat and says, “What can we do?” 

 

Emma jumps. Regina stares. Emma says, “We need you to take Henry tonight. You’re going to fall asleep before he goes. That’s okay. We’ll be parked down the block.” 

 

Snow says, brow furrowing, “I remember– Emma, when you went into the woods last time–“ 

 

Regina had nightmares about it for a month, scrambling in the night to find Emma in bed beside her; running her fingers over Emma’s smooth skin, searching for scrapes that had already healed; and cursing every Lost Boy who’d touched Emma with each strained breath.

 

“I’m a big girl. I can handle myself,” Emma says, and Snow’s brow grows ever deeper as Emma looks away from her. Regina reaches to her and then draws her hand back, remembering a moment too late. She tucks her hand into her other hand as inconspicuously as she can manage, Emma flushing beside her. “We’ve got magic this time,” Emma says stiffly.

 

“Not in the woods,” Snow reminds her, a frown settling on her features. “I don’t think it's a good idea for you two to go alone.” 

 

And they both turn to Regina expectantly, waiting for a response– Snow, counting on Regina to put self-preservation before recklessness, and Emma, counting on the very opposite.

 

There’s never any space for self-preservation when Henry is in danger. Emma knows that as well as anyone could.

 

* * *

 

They schedule in a Friday night sleepover that has Henry eyeing both of them suspiciously. “If this is another fake date…”

 

“Maybe it’s a break from our very cranky son,” Emma says, mussing his hair. Henry shoves her away, sending her stumbling back against the station wall. 

 

“ _Henry_.” Henry scowls at Regina in response. She draws herself up. “You will go to the loft after dinner. You will apologize to your mother for hurting her.” He mumbles something indistinct. “And we don’t need a break from you,” she says, landing a very cool glare on Emma. “We love you very much. This is just work.” 

 

“Yeah,” Emma bobs her head and kisses Henry’s temple. “Of course we don’t.” Henry submits to this touch, at least, and he shudders a little when Emma pulls him into a hug. There’s a terrified little boy under the bluster and the pixie dust, and Regina holds him tightly.

 

“I just want to know if this is how he’ll be as a teenager,” Emma says, handing Regina a coffee as she slips into the car that night.

 

“This is how he was at ten with me. I think it’s a foregone conclusion, Miss Swan.” 

 

“Damn.” Emma leans back against her seat. “Well, at least I’ve got you.” Regina raises an eyebrow. Emma says hastily, “To parent him the right way, I mean. I’m not good with him when he’s…you know. Like this.”

 

“That’s because you’re an overgrown teenager yourself,” Regina points out.

 

Emma makes a face. “I thought it was because you two are equally moody. You know how to handle him.” She preens. “Though I’ve always been pretty good at handling you.” 

 

Regina’s voice lowers an octave. “Miss Swan, you could  _never_ handle me.” Is there a way to shut off instinctive flirting? There must be something–

 

Emma waggles her eyebrows. “I did okay, didn’t I?” Regina sips her coffee and refuses to answer that one. She’d thought– during the first curse, unsatisfied and frustrated– she’d thought that the curse had dulled sensations for the cursed townspeople, tamped down on libidos as much as it had any strong urges or emotions. She’d been very, very wrong.

 

Unless it’s somehow even  _more_ without the curse, and a rush of liquid heat pools in her belly at the idea of it. She presses her lips together and watches Emma stretch in her seat, lithe and limber with her arms behind her and her back arched, and Emma catches her with a knowing smirk before she can look away. She stares out the window instead, flushing with embarrassment and heat. “I think you’d do well with Henry, given a little practice,” she says instead. “You’re his hero.” 

 

“And you’re his mom.” 

 

“We’re both–“ 

 

“Yes, we are.” Emma’s gaze is warm. “You know you’re his hero, too. Magic moms, right?” Regina can only nod in response.

 

Emma grows contemplative. “Hey, do you remember…?” Regina expects a reminder of the second curse– of times that she can’t remember anymore because they make her vulnerable and angry and wistful at once. She steels herself, gritting her teeth as the mood in the car shifts, and Emma says, “Jefferson’s hat.” 

 

And it isn’t a memory of a false time at all. “What?” 

 

“That hat you opened a portal with,” Emma reminds her. “When I grabbed your arm?”

 

It had been an easier time, almost. Sure, she’d been hunted down by a wraith attempting to suck out her soul, but they’d all known where they’d stood with each other. Emma had saved Regina’s life a half dozen times that day alone, and then she’d fallen into a portal protecting her and…

 

Well. She’d had a lot of complicated emotions about it, first of them being  _Henry is mine again_ , but she isn’t proud of that. “What about it?” she inquires, pushing said emotions aside again. 

 

Emma shrugs. “I’ve always wondered. It was weird, right? That I was able to jumpstart your magic like that?” 

 

“It was true love,” Regina says.

 

Emma looks at her, eyes wide and vulnerable and fingers resting on Regina’s arm where they’d been then. “You think so?” 

 

Something within Regina is pulled at its seams, close to collapse. “You’re the child of true love,” she says, winding her own fingers together around her coffee cup as Emma’s drop from her arm. She shouldn’t feel this crestfallen at the loss. “That’s where your magic came from.” 

 

“Right,” Emma murmurs. “Of course.” She straightens in her seat, knees pressed together and lips in a thin line. “For a while, I thought…” 

 

“You thought…?” Regina had  _thought_ too, before Emma on her doorstep with smug fury and Snow’s breathed  _that’s why Emma used magic instead_. Regina had known what kind of magic could transcend realms and Regina had thought of Emma jumping in front of her to be taken by the wraith and Regina had dared wonder, for a single moment…

 

Emma shakes her head, abrupt and grim. “Nothing,” she says, and Regina is angry again.

 

“Why do you  _do_ this?” she demands. Emma turns to her. “Why do you keep bringing up what– can’t you just let the whole thing go?”

 

“I am letting it go!” Emma stares up at her with enough disbelief that it occurs to Regina that she might be irrational right now, pulling out frustration that isn’t Emma’s fault. “You’re the one who’s bringing it up now!” 

 

She’s angry and it’s all over the place: fury with herself for buying into any of this; fury with Emma for making it all that much harder; fury with Pan and every damned step of the way that had led them to this disaster. “You don’t let it lie,” she snarls. “You keep– you act as though it was  _real_ and I can’t–“ She’s breathing hard, tears and rage mixing into a potent combination. “You look at me like–“ 

 

Emma cuts her off, eyes flashing. “And you look at me like I’m the villain here and I’ve tried to be understanding but…” She clenches her fists. “This happened to both of us. I had no more choice than you did, for fuck’s sake, Regina!” 

 

“You  _liked_ it!” Regina’s voice rises. “You  _wanted_ it!” 

 

“So did you!” Emma fires back, and Regina’s fist flies out toward her face. She catches it, twists Regina’s wrist to restrain it, and Regina heaves furious breaths and pushes against the hold. Emma is a picture of righteous fury and hurt now, defensive and outraged and shaking with it. “You loved our lie of a dream family just as much as I did, so maybe it’s time you tried some  _honesty_ andstopped pretending that I’m my grandfa–” 

 

“ _How dare you?_ ” Regina roars. She doesn’t recognize her own voice anymore, shaped into something terrifying and shrill and unrestrained. And Emma can’t hold her back anymore, not when hot coffee is dripping through her free fingers and she’s in motion, thrashing as much as she is clawing at Emma. Emma is unmoving, eyes wide with defiance and horror at once, and Regina sees her as a blur of white skin and yellow hair and wants her to  _die,_ to  _pay_ , to  _suffer_ for everything she’s done–

 

Emma pulls away from her with sudden force, yanking the car door open and stepping outside. “Stop it,” she says wearily. “Just– enough.”

 

“Don’t talk to me,” Regina hisses, her arms falling limp to her sides. Her hair is tangled and her eyes are wild and her head aches as she sits up again. 

 

When she emerges from the car, Emma is leaning against it and staring at a street sign down the block with determined focus. “I shouldn’t have said that,” she says dully. It should be an apology but it sounds more like a concession of defeat, and Regina is still blind with red-hot fury swimming in her eyes. 

 

“You’re just like the rest of your bloodline,” she sneers, squeezing the edge of her car door until it bends with magical force. “It’s a wonder Henry–“ 

 

Emma gasps. “Henry,” she says urgently as Regina’s eyes widen. She’s been so drawn into the conflict– so consumed with outrage and devastation at once– that they’ve lost the mission. _The most important thing._

 

And when they look upward as one, it’s to fading green bursts in the distance, boys crisscrossing through the sky as they vanish toward the woods. Regina slides back into the car, slams the bent door until it clicks shut. Emma hisses a dozen curses under her breath and jerks them forward, so fast that Regina’s nauseous with regret and fear and terrible driving, and they don’t speak until they’re at the border of the woods and there’s no sign of pixie dust anywhere around them.

 

“Fuck,” Emma says, pressing a hand to her forehead. “Fuck, okay. Okay. At least we know now how we can stay awake for this.” 

 

“Stop _talking,_ ” Regina snaps, furious. She charges from the car toward the woods, and she nearly attacks Emma again when a hand closes around her wrist. 

 

“Regina, wait! We don’t know where we’re going–“ 

 

“–There’s no _we_ anymore, you idiot!” Regina nearly bellows. “I missed Henry because of– because _you–_ I’ll do this myself.”

 

Emma doesn’t let go. This close to the woods, Regina can’t call up her magic and Emma is stronger, strong enough that Regina can only struggle violently against her grip. Emma tugs her in, tight against her chest. “I know you’re angry,” she says, panting. “But I’m not letting you go in there without any route or backup. We’ll do this again tomorrow.” 

 

“I despise you,” Regina grits out. Emma’s _right_ and she hates it, loathes every bit of her more than ever before. After this…after saving Henry– that’s _it_. She’s never going to willingly share space with Emma Swan again.

 

She tears herself free from the other woman at last and stalks away from woods, far enough that she can close her eyes and teleport back home to the nightmares that await her.

 

* * *

 

She dreams of being a queen, of oppressive gilded cages and a king pressing down on her. She dreams of never being allowed to scream, of holding _back-back-back_ so much that she’d only ever wanted to explode. She dreams of Emma Swan and gentle kisses and a little Henry’s trusting eyes and she wakes up with tracks of tears cooling on her face and her hand closed around a engagement ring she hasn’t worn in weeks.

 

She must have summoned it in her sleep. It’s torn into her palm, leaving a nasty-looking red gash behind, and she stares at it with renewed fury and something like exhaustion.

 

No. Anger. She’s angry. 

 

Everything had been so much easier before the curse had broken, and she squeezes the ring until she can feel it bite into her skin again.

 

She spends the day alone. Emma sends her a text she doesn’t respond to– _Henry home. See you tonight_ –and she sees the word _home_ and the name at the top of the screen and hurls the phone into the closest mirror. The mirror cracks over her dresser and Regina panics, digging through broken glass until her fingers are bleeding and she finds the ring she’d set down there that morning. She leaves her phone where it had fallen and stalks around the house, uncomfortable with her thoughts.

 

She flies between rage and regret and yawning emptiness in her heart that doesn’t abate when she calls Henry. He’s just as cranky today. “I can’t believe that you’re both ditching me again. I can stay home alone while you glare at each other in the office, you know.”

 

“Behave, sweetheart,” she says warningly, and she sinks back to the couch when they hang up and refuses to think about Emma some more. 

 

They don’t talk when they meet this time. Emma offers her a coffee and Regina stares at her with a carefully blank glare until Emma sighs and sets down the drink. “Okay, so we’re still doing this, huh.” 

 

“Don’t you _dare_ –“ Regina cuts herself off. The rage has been simmering deep in her stomach all day, and it bursts again into red flames through her at Emma’s proximity. She can feel her magic rising in response, desperate to hurt her again– to strike as deeply as Emma had last night– and she says, more for herself than Emma, “This is about Henry. Don’t talk to me. I will not play _partners_ with you again. I don’t want you anywhere near me after this is over.”

 

A muscle in Emma’s jaw twitches. “Fine.”

 

And the sulky response is enough to set Regina off. She draws herself up in her seat, preparing for another fight, and it’s only Emma pointing at the apartment through the windshield that stops her. “He’s out,” she says, staring at the window as Henry emerges. “Let’s go. You know, if you can tolerate me for that long,” she tosses out, still an idiot despite herself.

 

“Do you ever shut up?” Regina snaps, watching as there’s a little surge of energy and Henry is hovering above them. Flying with pixie dust– she’d done it once before, and she remembers how unwieldy it is. But Henry darts through the air as though he’s guided, over their heads without a glance down and straight toward the woods.

 

They move silently, Emma taking the wheel and steering them after Henry. Regina is still shaking with frustration and fury and refusing to think about  _any of it_ , dammit, Henry comes first and Emma is–

 

Is–

 

Is parking the car outside the woods, and there’s a little shimmer of energy as they cross into the woods and are suddenly powerless. Regina’s shaking gets worse and Emma murmurs with new concern, “You okay?” 

 

Regina’s fists clench and she ignores Emma, following the green burst of light above them deeper into the woods. 

 

It’s not that her magic doesn’t work in the woods as much as it’s tamped down violently, in such an intrusive way that it feels a bit like being held down against a bed with a body on top of her, like helplessness without any power to resist; and Regina is shuddering with every movement, slowing like molasses as the energy that the Lost Boys churn out subsumes her.

 

The forest is different now. And slowly, slowly, it begins to register their presence there as intruders. 

 

The trees seem to bend toward them to close them in. An impossible wolf howls. And ahead of them, in a clearing, a group of Lost Boys cavort to a haunting tune that chills Regina to her bones. 

 

She can’t see Henry in their ranks. She sees Pinocchio, his pale face upturned and blank as his body twists and moves to the music, and she takes a step forward. There’s no one in the clearing playing the music; it’s as though the forest itself is producing the tune, the trees swaying to it and conducting it all around them. It makes it impossible to hear anything else– to judge if they’ve been seen–

 

The boys turn.

 

They move in unnatural ways, dragging their legs and leaping too high, but they turn as one to face Regina and Emma. Their eyes are empty but their long arms scrabble toward them, and Regina stumbles back and sees eyes behind her in the woods. 

 

They’re surrounded on all sides. The melody is almost mournful– cemetery at night as the dead rise, Little Red Riding Hood in the woods in a story where she isn’t the wolf– and it’s playing their own funeral dirge as the boys close in on them. There’s something inhuman glittering in the boys' eyes, even tiny Pinocchio blank and vicious like a wild beast, and Regina  _pushes_ with all her might but can’t summon more than a sputter of magic.

 

An eerie high note plays in the dark. The boys are on them in an instant, sticks and swords and branches beating at their skin as Regina flails blindly and shoves them off. Emma has her nightstick out, waving it minutely, her face tense as she tracks movements but doesn’t dare hurt anyone. 

 

She stumbles to the side into Regina and hisses, “Count of three we run, yeah?” Regina nods, ducking a branch half the width of her head. “One. Two. Go!” They break off together, hurtling through a crowd of boys, and they break out and keep going. 

 

The one advantage they have to all the boys moving with the music is that they’re slower than they could be, fading into the distance behind them, and Emma pants, “What about Henry? Did you see him?” 

 

“He must be deeper in the woods. This could take all night and I don’t even know what we’re doing!” Regina says, frustrated. “I need to–“ 

 

The woods vibrate around them with a phantom drumbeat, pounding louder and louder until it’s in the blood rushing through Regina’s ears and she’s staggering in place, blinking at trees that seem to bend and press in around them. Emma croaks out something indistinct and Regina can hear the rustling of new Lost Boys around them. “Run,” she grinds out, and she hurtles forward just as a massive branch dislodges itself from a tree and drops onto them.

 

It barely nicks the back of her head but lands with a sickening  _crunch_ like a shattered mirror and with a howl of agony from Emma.

 

And then nothing but silence. 

 

Regina twists around, stomach twisting with terror and a full day’s fury forgotten. “Emma? Emma!” 

 

She can’t see in the dark with the trees moving around her, can’t hear Emma beneath the drumbeats, and all she can do is shout, “ _Emma!_ ” again, sick and frantic and terrified and already gasping out tears. If she’s dead…oh, god,  _Emma_ …

 

Emma is alive, illuminated in the moonlight as a tree shifts. Regina stares at her, the cold air beating against the wet tracks of tears on her face. Emma's on the ground, trapped beneath the branch and her leg at a frightening angle. “Think I shattered it,” she manages to grind out, white-faced with agony so acute that Regina’s heart stops. “Go without me. Find Henry.”

 

Like  _hell._ “Have you lost your mind?” Regina demands, crouching over her and batting uselessly at her tears. Emma is  _fine_. This isn’t the end. This isn’t… “I’m not leaving you like this. We have to get you back to the car.” The Lost Boys have retreated, dancing at the periphery of Regina’s blurred vision as they watch. 

 

“Not…gonna happen,” Emma says, pushing at the branch. She’s broken out into a sweat, exhausted and clearly struggling, and Regina heaves it up a few inches and is sick at the way Emma’s breathing cuts out and starts again. “Listen, we’re…we’re already in. We aren’t going to…get another chance like this. You’ve got to go.” 

 

“I’m not going anywhere,” Regina says stubbornly, heaving the branch forward and off of Emma. “Your leg is broken. I can try to heal it once the sun rises and this infernal music stops.” 

 

Emma drops back against a tree behind her, breathing hard. “Don’t be an idiot,” she says hoarsely. “It’s Henry. Don’t tell me you’re going to give up on a chance to save Henry because of someone you hate.” 

 

It’s so crassly manipulative that Regina has to bark out a laugh through the heartache. “Henry will be back in the morning, when your leg is healed and we can be better prepared for next time.” She stares studiously at Emma’s leg, surrendering at last to the misery instead of the rage. “And…I don’t.”

 

Emma huffs out a weak snicker. “You don’t want to be prepared for next time?” 

 

She’s so tired and scared and Emma’s suddenly so fragile beside her that she can’t bear it. “I don’t hate you,” Regina murmurs. “This would be simpler if I did, but…” She can’t finish the sentence. 

 

Emma whispers, “Oh.” But Regina can hear the tentative smile in her voice. “Well, that’s something, isn’t it?” She tries to shift and whimpers, tilting her head back to blink back tears as they slide past.

 

Regina takes her hand and slips her fingers between Emma’s. “Stay put,” she says, her voice gentler than she’d meant it to be. “I’m going to try to tug out enough magic from both of us combined that we can numb your leg.” Emma nods, her fingers clutching Regina’s in a vise grip. 

 

Regina focuses, pushing through the dampening effect of the woods to eke out the slightest bit of magic from Emma’s never-ending supply of it. When they’d started doing magic together, Emma’s had seemed like a magnificent labyrinth, stores of it everywhere but dizzying to touch. Today, it’s already a familiar route deep into Emma, finding her reservoirs of magic without a second thought. “More,” she breathes, straining as she presses their joined hands to Emma’s leg. “Give me more.” 

 

Emma obliges as well as she can, clumsily pushing magic to channel into Regina’s hands, and they’re both shiny with sweat when enough magic finally spills over to surround Emma’s leg and Emma is breathing normally again. “Always…knew you secretly wanted me,” she teases, slumping back against the tree. But she doesn’t drop Regina’s hand.

 

Regina holds hers tight, clinging to the tangible feeling of Emma alive and hanging onto her. “Hush, Miss Swan.” 

 

There’s a comfortable silence, Regina’s thumb brushing up and down the side of Emma’s hand. “Thank you,” Emma murmurs at last, making a face. “Why is it always me who gets beaten up by these things?” 

 

“Get back to me when you go through a couple of days of electroshock torture, dear,” Regina reminds her lightly.

 

Emma’s hand tightens around hers. “Fair point.” They fall back into silence, the drumbeats fading and the boys in the woods retreating. They are no longer a threat, Regina supposes, and she bites back her immediate reaction to that–  _like hell I’m not a threat_ – and lets them go. Next time. Next time, they’ll be ready. 

 

And there’s so much left unsaid between Emma and her that remains heavy in their even breathing and fingers tensing and un-tensing, and this silent darkness feels safe to venture, “You were right.” She shuts her eyes, unwilling to see Emma’s face turn to her. “You aren’t your…You aren’t the king.” Emma’s accusation had been unfair and raw and so very honest. “I just don’t know how to deal with…with any of this–“ With violation, with a loss of choice, with another story where she is a body and a husk and her mind is elsewhere. “When…” 

 

Emma grips her hand. “When you don’t hate me?” she whispers.

 

When the memories are  _good_ and loss of choice had come secondary to happiness. “Yes.”

 

“I’m sorry that I brought it up at all.” Emma sounds genuinely regretful. “But…that is what this is all about, right?” 

 

“It doesn’t seem fair,” Regina whispers. “It’s not fair that I can…that I brought everyone here to  _punish_ them and now I’m…” 

 

Emma– Emma who’s never cut her slack for her crimes but never castigated her over them either– squeezes her hand. “You’re allowed to deal with your own traumas. You didn’t deserve this.” 

 

And therein lies the impossibility of victim and villain and… _family_. “I loved it,” she says, and fat tears roll down her cheeks and join at her chin. “You were right about that, too. What the hell am I if I enjoyed…if I wanted what destroyed me last time?” 

 

“I don’t know,” Emma murmurs. “But I also…” She shudders, shoulders shaking under her jacket. “Well, you know. You were right last night, too.”

 

“I was cruel,” Regina admits, biting hard on her lip. She’d chastised Emma for wanting more but she’d wanted it just as desperately– had feared how much she’d wanted it– and she’s been so lost in her own mind since the curse had broken that she’d only wanted to hurt them both for it. “I don’t know how to say…” 

 

“To say…?” Emma prompts. 

 

They’re leaning against the same tree, shoulders touching and hands still locked, and Regina’s voice scrapes against razor-sharp defenses when she replies. “I miss you,” she breathes. “I miss our family. Not because of…because of what Henry wants. Not because Peter Pan cast a curse. I just–“ Emma is sitting very still, and Regina dares to move through the stillness of the woods and press tentative lips to hers. “You,” she whispers against Emma’s mouth, and she can feel the tears begin anew.

 

Emma is shivering again but she puts a hand to Regina’s cheek, strokes it gently and never quite falls into the kiss but never pulls away. When Regina finally leans back– uncertain, hesitant, sure that she’s stepped too far too soon– Emma is staring up at her with dark eyes. “Emma?” Regina murmurs, aching with the pained look in that solemn gaze. “Emma, please. Tell me what you’re thinking.” 

 

Emma says, her voice small, “It doesn’t matter.” And of course it shouldn’t– Regina  _knows_ her, knows her as intimately as two years of false memories and six months of real ones can teach a person. She can force herself into Emma’s shoes at least; push past her own reluctance to see anything but her own pain through this and find three decades of abandonment issues beneath the surface.

 

Another family, pushing Emma away. Regina’s fears are hinged in the violation of it; Emma’s are in the rejection that had followed. Emma looks away, her eyes downcast, and she says, “I miss you, too.”

 

Her hand is still tight in Regina’s and she tilts herself forward, careful not to jostle her injured leg, and kisses Regina’s jaw sweetly. Regina breathes– in, out, but breathless all the same– and they’re kissing again, Emma’s hands at Regina’s waist and back and dipping up under her shirt. “Need to feel you,” she’s muttering, warm fingers moving against cool skin with practiced skill. “Need…” 

 

Regina kisses her nose, kisses her neck, kisses her collarbone and clothed shoulders, kisses her breasts over her shirt until Emma is sighing and tugging her closer. She’s half on top of Emma’s good leg now, leaning against her chest as Emma slides her fingers along her skin, and she feels  _whole_ again for the first time in three weeks. She blurts out the missive before she can think about it. “Come home.”

 

Emma stills beneath her. “You don’t want that.”

 

She presses her lips to Emma’s. “I do,” she sighs. “I really do.” She’s wanted it from the start; but now, stripped of baggage and insecurities, she can finally confess it to herself. There’s been a gaping hole within her these past weeks, an emptiness that couldn’t be filled by anything but Emma Swan, and she can’t lose her again. “What do you want, Emma?” 

 

Emma puts a hand at Regina's neck to steady her as Emma attacks her lips with renewed vigor. “I want to come home,” she says, contained in a sob, and Regina holds her tightly until they’re both asleep and the sun is beginning to rise behind them.


	4. IV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> running late so comment replies later!! our quest for regina and emma's agency continues in this piece please don't hate me!! i love these ladies more than anything i just want them to get the stories they deserve!! k bye xoxo

Emma’s leg is easy to fix once the Lost Boys’ magic has died down in the morning. Regina lies beside her, her head resting against Emma's good leg as she knits bone and muscle back together, and Emma strokes her hair when she wakes up and says, “Finally, morning. I didn’t think that damn pipe would ever stop.” 

 

“Not a fan of the woodwinds?” Regina says, blinking owlishly up at her. “No culture on you, I swear.” 

 

“Don’t tell me you play–“ 

 

“Mother bullied me into mastering the flute. As she did.” They’re talking around the thoughts foremost on their minds, careful with how much they expose to each other. Regina keeps her voice even and is afraid to say any more about it. “I was quite good. Better than Pan, certainly.” 

 

“I can believe  _that_ ,” Emma groans, wriggling her toes with satisfaction before she swallows, darts a glance at Regina, and ventures, “Did you mean it?”

 

“Last night?” Regina curls up closer to her, lazy as a cat in the morning sun. “The part where I admitted that I don’t  _completely_  hate you–“

 

“Regina.” 

 

“–Or the part where I asked you to come home?” she finishes smugly. Emma rolls her eyes and  _god_ , it already feels like home in this little clearing in the woods. “I meant all of it, love.” The endearment rolls off her tongue easily, one she’d never used before the curse but suits them now. Emma blinks at her, her eyes light with mischief, but she doesn’t comment on it.

 

They make it back to the car with only a little extra effort, and Regina pronounces Emma capable of driving. “I feel like magic really ruins my injury cred,” Emma is complaining good-naturedly as they head back to the mansion. “Imagine the scars I’d have after last night. It’d be sexy.” 

 

“Mm,” Regina says agreeably. She just has the one scar after growing up with her mother– a magic-specific scar that Cora had been furious to discover couldn’t be removed. But this isn’t the time for that. This relationship is comfortable and easy and new, and battle scars are definitely sexy.

 

They make it into the house and Emma lets out a strangled little sigh of relief. “Home,” she breathes, blinking suspiciously wet eyes, and Regina turns her against the door to kiss her softly. 

 

Behind them, someone clears his throat. Regina pulls away from Emma and twists, eyes wide, to Henry seated on the stairs. “It’s ten o’clock in the morning,” he says sternly. “And where have you two young ladies been?” 

 

Emma pounces first, folding him into a hug that he yelps and laughs under as Regina joins them, grinning from the bottom of the stairs. “You’re really home?” he whispers, and Emma nods and Henry  _smiles_ and oh, they’re going to be okay.

 

* * *

 

She skips the support group meeting on Sunday. Instead, the Swan-Mills family heads out for a late lunch ( _lupper_ , Henry insists) at Granny’s, as they’d done every weekend for six months. Regina orders salmon croquets and Emma and Henry get burgers and a mysterious side order of fries appears on Regina’s plate while Emma whistles innocently. “That was the curse,” Regina protests, shoving one at Emma.

 

It’s easier than ever to fall into old routines, the motions of a world that hadn’t been real but can be now. And the most encouraging twist in all of this: Henry had slept in his bed last night. Regina had awakened at four am by habit and there he’d been, fast asleep with a closed window and no sign of a nighttime visit to the woods. 

 

She’d returned to bed and Emma had murmured, “He okay?” and fallen asleep at her confirmation, arms wrapped around Regina again so she can’t escape.

 

Not that she wants to. 

 

There’s an odd disconnect to this new reality– to retreating into familiar responses and reactions, her old self married to this new one. She finds herself biting back replies more often than not– muting them, finding Curse-Regina’s calmer center and stopping herself before she overturns their family's equilibrium. She hadn’t been all that different during the curse, she’d thought, but now she’s turning over words before she speaks, careful to keep them all  _just so_.

 

Emma swallows sentences midway through, too, and they’re dancing on ice, skirting away from the thinnest parts and too busy looking down to find each other. But it’s safe like this, playing parts that have worked for them and holding onto a life they hadn’t chosen but have embraced regardless.

 

Henry goes to school and isn’t as angry as he’d been before. Snow visits and talks about her baby and Regina keeps a hand on Emma’s thigh during those conversations, silently supportive. Emma is subdued after them, morose but rarely as expressive as Regina would expect, and Regina doesn’t press her. This relationship works because they’d never needed to press each other.

 

“You’ve been doing well,” Archie observes. It’s Thursday afternoon and she’s forgone the support group again to head to the station after work. He’s walking Pongo with Marco on their way to the office, and she smiles pleasantly. “I’m glad to see it.” 

 

Marco is watching her silently, eyes kind but expectant, and Regina swallows and remembers guiltily what she’s set aside. “I’m…we lost our lead for the Lost Boys,” she says, tilting her head apologetically. “Henry has stopped going there at night. We tried once and the trees themselves started…” She’s stammering excuses, chagrined at how easily they’ve set aside their mission and–

 

–This is what Pan’s curse had been about, hadn't it? Keeping them so focused on their own happiness that they’d forget everyone else’s. “We’re still working on it,” she assures Marco, flushing deep copper. “I swear.” 

 

“Thank you,” he says, but he looks troubled. “My Pinocchio has returned several mornings with bruises. I worry.” He smiles at her, still so warm that she’s ashamed. “Henry is lucky to have two mothers who’ve taken such good care of him.” 

 

“I swear,” she repeats, and then Pongo is barking at her, demanding attention, and she’s relieved to crouch down and focus on him instead.

 

“I can’t believe we just… _forgot_ ,” she says later, pacing in front of Emma’s desk. “A few days as a family and we lose the mission? I don’t get  _distracted_ from my enemies. I crush them.” 

 

Emma smirks. “Relax, Regina. I’m the sheriff, not you. I’ve been working on it.” 

 

“Without me?” It sounds too strident, too accusatory, and she takes a breath and continues without the attack. They’d never fought during curse, and any misstep now seems insurmountable. “You are the sheriff, I suppose.” 

 

Emma winces. “That’s not what I mean. I’ve…” She rubs her temples. “I’m sorry. Of course we’re in this together.”

 

“No, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to…to accuse you of…” This is supposed to be  _easy_ , dammit. Emma is kneading her temples now like she’s got a migraine in full force, and Regina steps across the room instead of replying outright. 

 

Like  _this_ they can communicate, Regina’s lips pressed to Emma’s and Emma propping her up onto her desk, a finger dragging Regina’s skirt up her thigh and Emma’s eyes glittering. “We can take care of it soon,” she murmurs, and Regina lets out a tiny groan and nods and leans into her embrace, eyes fluttering closed.

 

They don’t talk about it for a long time after that, and then it’s time to go home for dinner. Then it’s time for a quiet night watching whatever’s on TV and then a bath and bed, and Regina is left awake late into the night, remembering Marco’s troubled eyes.

 

She falls asleep suddenly, when it’s the last thing she thinks she’ll do.

 

* * *

 

She can’t remember one time during the curse when they’d really argued. There had been playful fights, yes, but never any of the kind of conflict where they’re unsatisfied and raging and spitting insults at each other that land and stick. They’d been a team bringing out the best in each other, and they’d never faltered.

 

Regina can’t be the one to unbalance that. She can’t break apart what the three of them have worked so hard to build. She draws complacency around herself like a shield and dredges up every mannerism of a young queen determined to project happiness. She’d spent so many years casting that off– the evil queen, the queen who’d been terrible and fearsome and uncontrolled– that reclaiming those masks feels almost like defeat. 

 

But she’d chosen this. She’d wanted Emma and she…she…

 

They don’t say  _I love you_ anymore, though it had been a hallmark of their cursed relationship.  _I love you_ before bed,  _I love you_ at the end of every phone call, casual and sweet and reassuring. Regina can’t bring herself to say it now. Maybe it’s only because Emma doesn’t either, because each goodnight and goodbye comes with the lingering silence of expectation and fear.

 

Sometimes she wants to ball up her fists like a child and scream because  _this was supposed to be perfect!_

 

Instead, it’s sitting around the dinner table making terse conversation and pretending. “Snow was over again today?” she says mildly. 

 

Emma shrugs. “Yeah, for a bit. She wanted to compare our late pregnancies.” Her eyes are dull even as her voice is animated. “She’s been getting a lot of Braxton-Hicks contractions lately and she thinks they’re a…secret sign that she’s having a boy this time. She also wants me to stay with them when the baby’s born so we can have some…family bonding.” She recites each point with less and less enthusiasm until her tone is as dull as her eyes.

 

Henry wrinkles his nose. Regina says, “Are you all right?” 

 

Emma starts in her seat and then straightens. “Of course I am,” she says, frowning at Regina. “I’ll…be a big sister.” She barks out a false-sounding laugh. 

 

Henry looks at her, concerned. Regina says, “It’s okay if you aren’t all right.” Emma had been more expressive about this when they hadn’t been play-acting at a cursed life, when there’d been something genuine about them within the illusion. Now it’s forced smiles and gritted teeth and quiet agony that Regina yearns to help with but–

 

“I’m  _fine_ ,” Emma grinds out, eyes flashing as she glares at Regina. “Can you stop pushing this?” 

 

And a dangerous part of Regina reacts, desperate to find something  _real_ in this black-and-white listless existence they’ve been floating within. A dangerous part of Regina snaps, “Pushing–“ with venom and the glee that had once come with sparring with Emma Swan, and she–

 

“I’m sorry,” Emma says, her face drained of all color. “I’m sorry.” She’s terrified, her fork tapping against the china as her hand quivers. “Forget it.” 

 

The fight sags out of Regina. “Emma…” she begins, and drops it just as swiftly, cutting her chicken into tiny bite-sized pieces with the precision of a queen.

 

Henry sighs loudly. They both stare at him, alarmed. He says, “May I be excused?” and he’s out of the room before Regina can respond. Emma watches him go with a marked pain that Regina can’t define.

 

They don’t talk about it later, either, but Emma sits down on their bed and Regina perches behind her, massaging her shoulders until Emma exhales and leans into her. Regina kisses her neck lazily, trails her fingers through her hair, and Emma whispers, “Hey.” 

 

“Hey,” Regina echoes warily. 

 

Emma closes her eyes, tilting her chin up so Regina can stroke her neck again. “You’re happy, right?” Her voice is small and so young that Regina aches. “With this. With us. You’re happy?” 

 

Regina answers by sliding down beneath her, attacking her neck with lips and teeth and tongue until Emma twists around and captures Regina's lips with her own instead. Regina bucks against her, hands sliding down to grip Emma’s ass, and Emma groans and slides her hands up Regina’s shirt.

 

And the next day, Regina goes back to Archie's support group.

 

* * *

 

Kathryn watches her with a steady gaze. Marco’s eyes flicker toward her and then return to the front of the room. No one comments on her presence there and she sits straight, legs folded under her, and listens to the others speak instead of chiming in. 

 

“Frederick and I ended things,” Kathryn says casually, fingers winding through the handle of her purse. “I guess it was bound to happen. The curse pushed us into a choice, and we fell out on opposite sides of it once it was over.” 

 

“It does happen,” Archie acknowledges. “There can be…clarity, when thrust into a new situation.”

 

“Tell me about it.” Jasmine says, shaking her head. “Last curse was simpler.” She glances at Regina and Regina glances back, startled at the acknowledgement. “It’s easier when it’s all built on lies instead of these…” 

 

“Half-truths,” one of the men finishes. “My wife and I are barely keeping it together these days.” 

 

“Mine wants us to  _evaluate who we are on our own_ ,” another says, rolling his eyes. “I know exactly who we are. I’m the bachelor on his own and she’s the one who was dating her best friend instead of me during the past six months.”

 

Regina leans back in her chair, guilty and lonely and not quite sure what she’s doing in this session until Archie says, “And Regina, you and Emma seem to have come to an–“ and she can feel the tears bubbling up.

 

She stands before they can erupt and flees the room, standing outside it as Archie continues serenely, unfazed by now at Regina’s abrupt escapes. “And Marco, how is your son?” 

 

She leans against the wall of the waiting room, shutting her eyes and listening to the murmurs inside the room. She doesn’t belong there anymore. She’s happy, improbable as it seems. And there’s no reason for her to have come to the meeting at all because she’s pretty damn sure that it’s none of their business how hollow her relationship has been.

 

She breathes hard, ignores a phone call, and focuses on  _not thinking_ until the session is over and everyone is filing out of the room. Marco gives her a nod– disappointed, because of course they haven’t made any headway with the Lost Boys– and Jasmine pats her arm and slinks past to the door.

 

Kathryn is last out the door. “Regina,” she says, pausing in front of her.

 

It’s the most direct Kathryn has been since they’d first run into each other at these meetings. She doesn’t avoid Regina’s eyes or wilt under her gaze, just stands there silently and waits. 

 

Regina arches an eyebrow, always impressed by defiance. “Here to tell me to fuck off?” she suggests evenly.

 

Kathryn rolls her eyes. “You know, I wanted to when I first saw you here. You should be in prison.” 

 

Regina smiles without humor. “But then who would do the town paperwork?” 

 

“Mm-hm.” Kathryn eyes her. “You know, for all Pan’s faults, he never made me live twenty-eight years believing I was in love with  _David Nolan_.” Regina tenses, but she sounds amused by it now. “But I know by now how to back out of a doomed relationship.” 

 

Regina’s hackles rise. “If you’re implying something about my marriage to Emma–“

 

“Oh, hardly,” Kathryn says dismissively. “You two were always going to wind up where you are now.” She tilts her head, eyeing Regina so thoroughly that Regina is exposed and unsettled before her. “But I have to say– I’m surprised you’d let anyone else dictate how you’d get there.” 

 

Regina narrows her eyes unpleasantly. “I didn’t ask for your opinion.” 

 

Kathryn shrugs. “I didn’t ask to be tied up in a basement so you could have your revenge on Snow White. We deal.” She strides off, head high and regal as a princess, and Regina glares after her and yanks out her phone.

 

The missed call is from Emma, and the message is an apologetic cancellation for lunch. Regina shuts her phone and rubs at her eyes, ruining her eye makeup and still unable to assuage the burning sensation behind them.

 

* * *

 

She’s snippy for the rest of the day, snapping at her secretary and Granny and then Snow before Emma coaxes her back home. “I can’t take you anywhere,” she says wryly, sliding her fingers through Regina’s hair until it’s unkempt at her shoulders. “What’s gotten into you?” 

 

“Nothing,” Regina insists, dull-voiced and dull-eyed. “I’m just tired.”

 

Emma perches on her lap, still wreaking havoc with her hair as her knees slide comfortably to either side of Regina. “You’re a menace,” she says, brushing a kiss to her temple. “But a menace I…” she starts fondly and freezes an instant later. “I…I.” 

 

“You,” Regina teases. It’s easier than acknowledging the words Emma can’t say– the words Regina can’t respond to and won’t examine why. “You’re just as exhausted as I am.” 

 

“Mm,” Emma agrees, untangling the tips of Regina’s hair from her fingers to prop up her chin. “C’mere.” 

 

The kisses have never changed, at least. There’d been a desperation to them in the woods, but curse or not, the rest have been the same. Emma tastes familiar, like home and love and family, and she still holds Regina too tightly and murmurs apologies for it. She’s still fascinated by all the same places, when it comes to Regina– her ass and her legs, yes, but she touches the underside of her wrists with special care and she kisses the scar on her lip as though it’s something precious.

 

There’s a comfort to blocking out all the doubts and the farces and  _being_ , chasing what they want and communicating on a level they’re actually good at. They bury themselves in bed, Emma rocking back and forth above Regina as Regina moves within her, and Regina is loose-limbed and calm again when she falls asleep.

 

She wakes up and it’s a half hour to sunrise. Emma is burrowed under the blanket, damp curls resting against Regina's stomach and a lazy arm flung over Regina’s thighs; and Regina eases her back onto the mattress and rises, pulling on a dressing gown and wandering downstairs in search of her phone.

 

She finds it drained of battery and tucked into the living room couch; and she plugs it in with a sigh and gets a drink, letting the cool water trickle down her throat. The house is quiet at this time of night. She’d done this on occasion during the second curse, sipping morning coffee as the sun had risen– but she’d also been a horsewoman then, not a mayor, and she suspects she’d be a hell of a lot crabbier about it now.

 

She pauses for a moment in front of the back door, a reluctant smile creeping onto her face as she remembers a night several months ago when the sunrise had been orange lit by purple clouds all the way to the water. She’d roused a cranky Emma and dragged her to the balcony, and Emma’s mouth had fallen open with awe.  _Okay, I finally get it_ , she’d murmured, eyes glittering as though Regina had shown her one of the seven wonders of the world, and they’d stood together until the sky had been bright and Henry had been stumbling out of bed.

 

Caught in a wave of nostalgia– maybe this is it, maybe this is how they recapture the magic they’ve lost– she starts the coffee and scrolls through her phone, catching up on the flurry of work emails that had popped up while she’d been asleep. When it’s ready, she tiptoes through the master bedroom to the balcony and settles down on a chair there, inhaling the scent of the coffee.

 

When she looks up again, it’s to a burst of green light rapidly approaching the house.

 

She sets the coffee down and stands, her eyes narrowed; and her worst suspicions are confirmed a moment later. Henry’s eyes are glazed as he careens around the side of the house, clumsily slipping into the window, and she’s standing in front of him as he slides to the floor of his bedroom.

 

The pixie dust colors his eyes green, and he sneers at her for a moment before sinking back against the wall. “Now what?” he demands.

 

“Now what? Now what?” Her voice is strident and accusing when it emerges and she can’t tamp it down. “I thought you were done with this!” 

 

His eyes narrow at her, unfriendly and bitter. “Oh, are we back to you telling me how to feel and what to believe? When do we skip to the apple turnover?” 

 

She doesn’t lash out again. She doesn’t flinch, either, not without Emma to back up her moments of weakness. She can control this with expert practice, defuse conflict with Henry with only a soft tone and careful words. “I thought you were happy again,” she says carefully. “Wasn’t this all you wanted?”

 

And even the aftereffects of the pixie dust can’t tamp down the anguish in Henry’s eyes. “Yeah,” he says hopelessly. “Yeah, I thought it was.” 

 

He sniffles once and she drops to hold him, wrapping him into her embrace before the tears start and he’s gasping, “I don’t know  _why_ , I don’t know what’s wrong, don’t you think something’s wrong?” And she clings to him and can only nod again because this isn’t  _right_ , not like the curse had been with a lie. Not like a night in the woods when she’d finally been honest. Not like Regina and Emma with their arms around their baby boy on the Jolly Roger, gazing into each other’s eyes.

 

They’ve been so loud and Regina had left her bedroom door open, so it shouldn’t be a surprise when she turns and sees Emma in the doorway but somehow it still is. Maybe it’s only because Emma is barefoot and wide-eyed when she stares at them. Maybe it’s because neither Henry nor Emma looks very startled about seeing the other here at this time of morning.

 

And she finds her voice after a moment of stomach-churning suspicion and demands, “Did you  _know_ about this?” 

 

Henry and Emma both freeze. “Did you know she knew?” she demands wildly. “Have you two been keeping this from me?” 

 

“We–“ Emma starts.

 

“How long?” Regina demands. 

 

“It wasn’t–“ 

 

“How. Long.” 

 

“A week,” Emma says, deflating. “I’ve had a bout of insomnia and I woke up at two am and found him gone. I’ve had it under control, okay? This is nothing new.” 

 

“Nothing new,” Regina says slowly, the rage building up inside her and lowering her voice. “Nothing new except you’ve been  _hiding_ this from me. I’m his  _mother_.” And the hurt flares almost as deep as the rage. “We were a  _family_.” 

 

Henry jerks away from her, his face hard and red. “Yeah, and we wanted to keep it that way,” he snaps, staggering to his feet and past them both. The bathroom door closes with a slam and Emma winces and shuts his bedroom door behind her. 

 

“Don’t you dare,” Regina says, voice low with fury and disbelief. “Don’t you dare tell me that you’ve been lying to me because you thought it would keep us together.” 

 

“I wasn’t  _lying_ to you, Jesus, Regina,” Emma says, exasperated. “I didn’t tell you about it because I thought you’d just get more upset and there was nothing we could do about it, just like before.” 

 

“Really.” She can feel nausea in the pit of her stomach, rising through her esophagus and threatening to emerge. “And you would have kept it from me if we hadn’t been together?” Emma bites down hard on her lip. Regina struggles to keep her voice even. The air is charged around them like a tank of gasoline, and it would take only one match to shred them both. “Did you think that I was with you because it kept Henry from the woods?”

 

Emma’s eyes are stricken. “No!” She sucks in a breath. “God, Regina, that would be so…” She bristles with righteous indignation and horror. “So unspeakably manipulative.” She sags. “I just…wanted you to be happy.”

 

“I don’t want to be happy!” Regina snarls out, on the cusp of despair as she rises. They’ve been dancing this dance for almost two miserable weeks now, and Emma can’t possibly think– “I wanted something real!” Something she’d chosen–   _I’m surprised you’d let anyone else dictate how you’d get there_ – and something that she can build. 

 

“Real?” Emma demands disbelievingly. “Real?” Her eyes are sharper now, her voice rougher, a dozen tamped-down frustrations emerging at once. Regina is a queen who glories in combat but this one saps her of her strength with each passing moment. “Come the  _fuck_ on. We both know that none of this is real.” Emma laughs bitterly. “You’re not real.” Regina opens her mouth to object. “I’m not real.” She shuts it again. “We’re not our cursed selves, Regina. We can’t…” She stumbles over words, each more distraught than the last. “We can’t recapture whatever it was that made us work because it wasn’t  _us_. It was a curse,” she says dully. “It was all the curse.” 

 

She’s right. Regina knows it, and Emma must know from her face that she agrees. They’ve been desperately trying to find the pieces of them in a story that had never been theirs– that had been Peter Pan’s, first and foremost– and they’ve failed. This had all been a terrible mistake. They don’t  _work_.

 

“I’m sorry that I kept the truth from you,” Emma whispers, her lips pressed together as tears begin to fall. “I think…I just got into the habit of pretending, you know?” 

 

“I know.” Emma’s crying freely now, and Regina isn’t angry. She’s just…empty, a void where her heart had been. “I think you should go,” she says, her tone blank.

 

Emma bobs her head, swiping at wet cheeks. “I think I should,” she agrees. “I’ll…I’ll tell Henry before I pack up.” When she smiles, it’s pained and soft and it wrenches apart Regina’s heart in an instant, flooding it with agony again. “I don’t want him blaming you for this, okay?” 

 

Regina stands very still, her hands stiff at her side, and Emma smiles wetly again and turns around to go, fingers wrapping around the doorknob– “Emma, wait.” 

 

Emma turns back and Regina flies across the room into her arms, kisses her soundly until she tastes saltwater tears and Emma’s gasping into her mouth, hands against sleek satin on her back and nails digging into her skin. They fall back in sync with ragged sighs, foreheads pressed together and fingers linking and dropping to their sides; and Emma releases one hand to cup the back of Regina’s head and press her lips against her forehead. 

 

She doesn’t drop Regina’s other hand until she’s backing out the door and turning away and Regina loosens her grip so Emma can break free, knocking on the bathroom door and waiting until Henry opens it sullenly.

 

Regina walks back to the balcony in a dreamlike daze and sinks down into her chair for the last remnants of sunrise. And she drinks cold coffee until she’s sobbing into her mug, bent over and heaving dry gasps of agonized despair while the sun shines brighter above her.


	5. V

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, I know, I changed the number of chapters again. BUT. It's only for the epilogue and I have about two scenes left to write for it so I promise it won't get any longer than this omg. ok ok. Pining chapter commences below!!!

“Emma and I are no longer seeing each other.” It’s the first time she’s had to say it. True to her word, Emma had told Henry. He isn’t talking to either of them right now, but he’s still attending meals and doing his homework with a robotic dullness that she can identify with. 

 

Snow had been informed as well, but her reaction has been to smother Regina, naturally. She’d arrived when Henry had left for Emma’s apartment and never left, shrugging off Regina’s threats and not– not pushing, exactly. Just watchful, waiting for some kind of confession.

 

Regina has other outlets for that. She rubs a finger against the fabric of her skirt and waits until Archie says, “I’m sorry to hear that.” 

 

“Well, it was really just about Henry,” she lies. “And he’s gone back to the woods, so I guess there wasn’t any point to it anymore.” 

 

“Right,” Jasmine says, eyeing her speculatively. “You were casually dating your ex-wife to make your son happy.”

 

“She isn’t my ex-wife,” Regina says tiredly. “We never even chose to date.” 

 

“Until now.” It’s Marco, of all people. She shoots him a scathing look. He cocks an eyebrow at her and she drops it, embarrassed. “I’m sure you had your reasons.” He deftly changes the topic and she sits back, refusing to meet anyone’s eyes for the rest of the session. 

 

She exits the office at the same time as Kathryn, and she’s just summoning enough boldness to say something when the outer office door opens and Emma walks in. They stare at each other, eyes wide and lips parted, and Emma manages a faint, “Hi.” 

 

“Hi,” Regina echoes, transfixed. Emma’s eyes are rimmed darker than usual, and her hair falls past her shoulders in the soft curls that she hasn’t worn in years in reality. “You…you look well.”

 

“So do you,” Emma breathes, a hand reaching up as though to touch Regina’s and then dropping. Regina watches its progression with naked longing. “I…uh,” Emma says, tearing her eyes from Regina’s for a moment to gesture toward Archie’s office. “I had to talk to Archie about something.”

 

“He’s in there,” Regina says faintly. Emma’s gaze returns to hers, heated and shy at once, and Regina doesn’t move until Kathryn nudges her. “I guess I’ll…see you around,” she tries, taking a step back. 

 

“Yes,” Emma murmurs and flushes. “I mean. Probably. I should–“ 

 

Regina nods vigorously and Kathryn takes her elbow, guiding her out of the room. She exhales in relief and Kathryn says, “Really just about Henry, huh?” 

 

“Shut up.” Most of the support group is still milling about in front of the building, and they’re watching them with amusement. Regina suddenly misses being the fearsome Evil Queen more than ever. 

 

But Kathryn says, “We usually grab lunch together after the session.” Her eyes glint with amusement. “I know you prefer storming out, but you’re welcome to join us if you’d like.” 

 

She’s half tempted to start a fight over this and do some more storming out, but it’s been days of speaking to no one but Snow and she’s…she’d really like to be around someone else. “Yes,” she says shakily. “Thank you.”

 

Kathryn pats her arm, guiding her in the direction of Tiana’s, off of Main Street. The others don’t question her joining them, and Regina is jarred just by the inclusion. She’s never been a part of a group before. She’s been a reluctant trail on Charming family road trips but that had been about Henry or a new threat to the town or something  _official_ , never a friendly gathering like this. She’s been a queen and a mayor and she’d been Cora’s daughter and she’s always stood alone.

 

Walking with Kathryn and Jasmine– listening to them chat with Marco and one of the other men– it feels almost like a domestic normalcy, like reclaiming that mundanity of the curse is possible. 

 

But no, it isn’t possible. She knows that now.

 

She struggles to keep her face even as they enter the restaurant, and she jumps when Kathryn whispers in her ear. “Just a warning– they’re going to interrogate you about Emma.” 

 

“What–?” But Kathryn has already slipped away, setting down her purse across the table and taking a seat. Regina glares at her, bewildered.

 

And she’s right, of course. They make it through only minutes of small talk before Jasmine says, “So how’d you and Emma get together during the curse in the first place?” 

 

“Yeah,” Gerald the shoemaker-turned-small-business-owner says. “One minute Henry’s birth mother was skulking around town, and the next you two were shacking up.” 

 

Regina is taken aback. “What– Why is any of this relevant post-curse?” 

 

Jasmine shrugs. “It’s the most interesting thing about you.” 

 

“The most–“ Her mouth falls open in outrage. Marco is watching with crinkled eyes, warm and delighted at her bewilderment. “I was your queen! The evil queen!” 

 

“Not mine,” Jasmine informs her. “I have my own kingdom, thank you very much. It was only my poor fortune that I was trapped in yours when you cast that curse.” 

 

Regina seizes that. “Yes! I cast the curse! And this is the most interesting thing about me? My  _romantic_ life?” 

 

Jasmine and Kathryn exchange glances and then bob their heads. “Pretty much, yeah.” 

 

“Definitely,” Gerald agrees. 

 

Marco says gently, “You two did hate each other in reality.” 

 

“The curse must have rewritten you both entirely,” Jasmine says, frowning.

 

“Not…entirely,” Regina manages, and she’s saved from saying anything more by their orders arriving. She picks at her food in silence for a few minutes before she looks up and discovers that their expectant eyes are still on her. “Really?” she demands, setting down her fork.

 

“Not entirely?” Kathryn echoes. “What does that mean?” 

 

“There’s an entire town rumor mill that revolves around your love life,” Gerald offers, snickering. Jasmine smacks his arm. He says hastily, “Kidding! Just kidding. Of course.” 

 

Regina eyes them all suspiciously. Kathryn prompts again, “Not entirely?” 

 

Regina sighs. “Not entirely,” she agrees. “It was just…easier this time.” They’d met each other without baggage, no Evil Queen or Savior, no fears or resentments or curses breaking to derail them. They’d just been two women determined to do right by a boy; and while that had meant early threats of restraining orders and heated conversation, it had also meant that those had faded with Henry’s pleas and the attraction between them.

 

_You’re Henry’s birth mother?_ she’d said the first night, and instead of scheming murder and fearing the savior, she’d noticed Emma’s tight shirt and the way her hair had cascaded down her shoulders.  _Hi,_ Emma had said feebly, and Regina had been inexorably drawn to her from the start. 

 

She’d fought it, of course– she always fights it. She’d made snide comments and manipulated events and had been determined to get rid of Emma. In return, Emma had maneuvered around her and kept trying to do good– to make a difference and  _help_ people– and grudgingly, reluctantly, Regina had fallen. 

 

In her false memories, it had taken only those early months before Emma had been all she could think about. She’d reacted…well to that. She’d demanded her presence at policy meetings and monitored dinners with Henry and she’d shown up to the station to supervise far too often. Emma had been brusquer back then. She’d been bemused by Regina and more resistant to anything more than seduction, so Regina had seduced her and Emma had obliged.

 

That had been two years ago, almost to the date. Six months later on one quiet evening, Regina had murmured  _I love you_ and Emma had stammered out an excuse and had run. Six months and one week later, Emma had broken into the house via the balcony and whispered  _I love you, I love you, I love you_ and pressed watery kisses to Regina’s cheeks until Regina had forgiven her. (One year six months ago, a curse had broken and Regina had loathed Emma Swan with all her might. A week after that, Emma had vanished into the Enchanted Forest and Regina had wandered aimlessly through her house, regretting wispy almosts that had never taken form.)

 

Nine months ago, Emma had asked Regina to marry her–  _no,_ nine months ago, Regina had been mourning her mother and Emma had gone to check in on her and been turned away. Seven months ago, they’d had a simple ceremony– neither of them interested in lengthy preparations and ostentatious displays. Seven months ago, they’d danced wreathed in white and Regina had lost herself in Emma Swan’s embrace.

 

_No, no, no_. Seven months ago, they’d been searching for their son together, snapping at each other and whispering admissions in the night and perfectly united in a single goal. Seven months ago, they’d held each other as a curse had come and Regina had lost herself in Emma Swan’s embrace.

 

She doesn’t say any of this to the group watching her, waiting for explanations. Not to Jasmine’s inquisitive gaze or Kathryn’s knowing one, not to Marco’s warm eyes that remind her so much of her father’s. “And that was all,” she pronounces, and sips her coffee in silence.

 

* * *

 

 

The worst part of the week might just be the regular meeting with the sheriff’s department. She’d been half-hoping that David would be sent up to her office instead, half-hoping that she’d have a chance to see Emma again. Still, her heart stops when the door opens and a blonde head pokes into the room. “You busy?” 

 

Her hair falls past her shoulders in curls again. Her face has lost its shine and her fingers play nervously at the bottom of her jacket and Regina wants to kiss away the pallor of her face. 

 

She does not. “Emma,” she murmurs, and then corrects herself. “Sheriff Swan.”

 

Emma winces. “Mayor Mills,” she says, face stiffening and spine straightening. “I have the weekly crime report here. We’ve had an uptick in vandalism and break-ins, but not more than during the curse. It’s all happening during daylight hours–“ 

 

“Because they’re all in the woods at night.” 

 

Emma bobs her head. “Yeah. Yes. That’s what I think is going on. You…you haven’t found anything that might help in your books yet, have you?” Regina sighs. “I figured. I’m going to mount another expedition into–“ 

 

“No,” Regina says immediately, horrified. “Have you lost your mind? I’m not letting you go back there.” 

 

Emma’s brow knits together stubbornly. “It’s my job.” 

 

“Your job isn’t to get yourself killed!” Regina snaps. It’s too shrill, too fearful, and Emma reaches for her hand over the desk and then retracts it swiftly. Regina softens her tone. “Emma, please,” she says pleadingly. “Give me a few more days of research and then we’ll both go back in. You can’t…You’re going to get hurt.” 

 

Emma shrugs. “It doesn’t matter,” she murmurs, her face colorless and expressionless and Regina  _aches_. “I have to save them. Nothing else matters.” 

 

Regina gapes at her in silence and Emma stands up, turning for the door. “If that’s all…” 

 

Regina crosses the room with rapid movement and stands between the door and Emma before Emma can exit. “Emma,” she says again, and her hand is moving without guidance, reaching out to touch the faded skin over Emma’s cheekbone before she can stop herself. Emma stills under her touch, her eyes pinpoints of green boring into Regina’s.

 

Regina traces a path along the curve of Emma’s cheekbone, trailing her fingers down to her cheek. Her thumb brushes along Emma’s lip, drawing out a slight intake of breath. Emma gives a barely noticeable shudder. “Regina,” she whispers.

 

“Sorry,” Regina manages, but it still takes a few minutes before she can pull her hand away. “I just had to…”

 

“To…?” Emma echoes, eyes flickering down to Regina’s lips for a moment. She licks her own, and Regina’s own gaze is fixed on them. 

 

She stumbles backward, remembering herself. “I should…work.” She gestures vaguely at her desk. “I have work to do.” 

 

“Right. Me too.” Emma nods vigorously. “Work. Lots of it.” She pulls the door open with a jerk, cheeks flushed as Regina’s secretary peers in curiously.

 

Regina swallows. “Don’t go out there alone,” she says, heedless of who might be eavesdropping. “Just…Henry can’t lose you.”

 

“Henry hates me,” Emma says wearily, and she departs without another word.

 

Henry is…an ongoing mystery at this point. He slouches at the dinner table and engages in grunts and mumbled comments. Regina finds every last reserve of patience within herself and still snaps at him more than she’d like, but he doesn’t react even to that.

 

She’s still taken by surprise when she gets the call from the principal’s office the next afternoon, summoning her to the school. “Henry is a first time offender,” Principal Mfalme says when Emma and Regina take their seats on either side of their sullen son. “We’d normally pursue criminal charges for a case as serious as this, but we’ll let him go with a suspension this time.” 

 

Instinct wins over reason and she draws herself up and sneers at him imperiously. “You’re suspending my son?  _My_ son? I don’t think so.”

 

He’s unmoved. “My own son was with the group of boys as well, and you’ll find that I  _am_ pursuing criminal charges against him. Simba needs to be taught a lesson, as do the rest of these boys.” 

 

“You made a  _bonfire_ of your  _textbooks_?” Emma demands of Henry. “On  _school property_? What the hell, kid?” 

 

Henry sits silently, arms folded, brow knit in defiance as he stares downward. Regina catches Emma’s arm when they guide him out of the office. “I know you’d take him for the weekend, but if you need…” 

 

“Yeah,” Emma says, fidgeting. “Yeah, if you don’t mind.” 

 

Henry tosses her a scathing look that he would never dare point at Regina. Regina snaps, “Car. Now,” and he huffs and stalks to the car.

 

“Henry,” she tries when he’s in the car. “I know that…I know that this isn’t you.” It’s whatever’s happening to all the boys in town, possessing them and turning them wild, but this is still  _Henry_ and so she appeals to him first. “I want to help you.” 

 

“You want me to shut up and go back to being a good little boy,” Henry snarls, knuckles white as his fists clench. “You can’t  _possibly_  believe that this isn’t a spell because how could I ever be less than perfect, right?” 

 

This strikes her as patently unfair. “You spent the past few years trying to  _replace_ me, and I never told you it wasn’t you.” 

 

“You told me I was crazy!” She flinches, a dozen regrets washing over her again. And the frightening thing about him now is that his eyes are glinting with defiance but also pain he can’t hide even through the wildness. “Am I supposed to forget that so we can be a happy family? We’re not even that anymore!” He’s still staring straight ahead, but his eyes are glittering with tears he gulps back furiously.

 

She sags and pulls over, parking on a side street. “Is that what this is about?”

 

“I want to go to Grandma’s apartment,” Henry spits out. “I don’t want to talk to you.” 

 

Regina’s jaw tightens. “Henry, we tried. Both of us, Emma and I…we wanted it to work just as much as you did.” She can feel her own tears threatening to erupt. There had been a time when she’d have preferred Emma dead than as a coparent, but now she desperately misses the other half of her team. “I’m still– I still wish– Henry–“ 

 

“I want to go to Grandma’s apartment” Henry grits out. “I don’t care, okay? I don’t care about you and Ma and I want– I  _want to go to the loft!_ ” he finishes desperately, tears streaking down his face.

 

“You’re not going there until we talk this out,” Regina says, pursing her lips and reaching for his shoulder. “I know that you’re upset.” 

 

He rears up like a spooked horse. “Don’t touch me!” He’s fiddling frantically with the locks on the car, in a rush to break out of it. “You don’t know anything. You want to…you want to pretend that I’m a Lost Boy because it’s  _easier_ , right?” 

 

“Easier than what?” Regina demands. “Henry, it’s all I think about. Emma and I wake up every night at three in the morning to check on your empty bed. I can’t sleep most nights after that because I’m terrified that tonight will be the night you don’t come back.” She wants to cry, to release some of this awful energy from her heart, but instead she’s hollow and raw. “And then during the day you won’t even talk to me. Emma thinks you  _hate_ her. How is any of this easier?” 

 

Henry sits in rigid silence, a waterfall about to spill free, and when Regina reaches for his arm again he falls. “Better that than the truth,” he chokes out. “I know– I know that it was my fault that you made Ma leave. I know Ma hates me now. I ruined everything!” he gasps out, shoving her hand away.

 

Regina lowers it, aghast. “You didn’t–“ 

 

“I told Ma not to tell you I was going away at night.” Henry wipes angrily at his tears. “I  _knew_ you’d give up if I did. But I couldn’t  _stop_. I don’t know how to stop. I don’t know how to be good again. We were supposed to be happy!” 

 

“I’m always happy around you,” Regina breathes. Henry is– Henry is someone to treasure, to cherish more than anyone she’s ever had in her decades of lonely life. Henry is  _everything_ , and she wants to sob with him at this broken child who’s been a casualty of this town and life. “Henry, you don’t need to be anything but yourself. You were never the reason Emma left.” 

 

She gets a blank, red-eyed stare in response. “I just want to go to Grandma’s for the weekend,” Henry says dully, and Regina starts the car and drives him to Snow’s.

 

She cries once he’s out of the car and in his grandmother’s arms, endless tears spilling down her cheeks at last and so bereft that she’s desperate for distraction. She can’t think about Henry or Emma or whatever they’ve fallen apart to.

 

Instead, she picks up her phone and dials a number she hasn’t called in years. “Kathryn,” she says hoarsely. “What are you doing tonight?” 

 

She hears a dozen sentiments in the measured pause, the consideration within it. And then Kathryn responds, her voice calm. “Going out for drinks with you,” she says, and Regina shuts her eyes and exhales.

 

* * *

 

“This is a dive,” Regina says, tapping her tumbler where there’s still a smudged fingerprint on it. The bartender rolls his eyes and retrieves it, proffering a second glass.

 

“It’s a classy dive!” Kathryn protests, gesturing around. It’s cleaner than the Rabbit Hole, which is…a very low bar. No pun intended. But it’s a bit quieter and cleaner and there’s no smoking indoors, and those are the only reasons why she’d even agreed to set foot in it.

 

She’s beginning to reconsider. “Does such a thing exist?” she wonders, twisting the glass in her hand. It’s clean. She taps it again and the bartender fills it. 

 

Kathryn makes a face. “There’s alcohol,” she offers. 

 

Regina tips her tumbler back and swallows, the liquid scorching her throat as it goes down. “Good point,” she concedes, taking a second drink. 

 

Kathryn follows her lead, leaning forward on the bar stool and eyeing her interestedly. “I always saw you more as a wine mom,” she says, throwing back her own drink. “Or that terrible apple cider. I blacked out at your house once.” 

 

“I do prefer wine. Not today.” Today she wants something with a bit more bite, something that burns enough going that she can focus on it instead of the shambles her life is in. “And my cider is the best–“ 

 

“Yes, yes.” Kathryn waves her hand in a supremely royal manner. “So I’ve heard.” 

 

The familiarity of it is disarming enough that Regina dares to ask, “Why are you here?” 

 

“You called me,” Kathryn says, quirking an eyebrow.

 

“Not what I meant.” Regina downs her drink and slides her glass back to the bartender. “I cast a curse that ruined your life, remember? I sent Gold to hold you hostage and…” She loses her train of thought and drinks more instead. “Why the hell are you here with me now?” 

 

Kathryn shrugs. “I like you.” 

 

“ _What_?” 

 

“I've always liked you.” Kathryn smiles ruefully. “The terrible despot, moving through circles of kings and watching them quake in terror. My father feared you a reasonable amount, and there are few he’d ever feared. It was…refreshing. Though, of course, you had to be stopped.” She shakes her head, almost admiringly. “And still you survive. You’ve fallen in love with Snow White’s daughter–“ 

 

It’s the only part of the conversation that Regina can interrupt. “ _Kathryn_.” 

 

Kathryn smirks at her, unintimidated. “You’ve managed to keep your seat in Storybrooke and you still haven’t given up. I can respect that, regardless of how many apologies you owe me.” 

 

Regina winces. “I…”

 

“Forget it.” Kathryn pats her arm. “You pay for all the drinks tonight and we’ll call it even.” 

 

It’s so  _bewildering_ , how easily she can cast aside all she’s been through, and Regina manages to burst out with, “I am sorry for hurting you.” She ducks her head, the flush of the whiskey spreading across her cheeks. “I truly am.” She’d said once that she has no regrets– and she doesn’t. She can’t, not when it had all given her the most important person in her life. But there have been casualties along the way– innocents, Kathryn and Marco and Jasmine and the rest of the people in this town (and a baby left at the side of the road, a woman who’d never known family because of her curse)– and she’s surprised to discover that she means it when she apologizes.

 

Kathryn rolls her eyes. “It’s fine. I’d do a dozen more hostage situations if it meant I’d never have to go back to the Enchanted Forest again.” 

 

“Because of the marriage,” Regina guesses.

 

Kathryn drinks, hard and fast. “My father is not happy about my split with Frederick. He’s accused me of it being about some  _feminist agenda_.” There’s a sneer in her voice that Regina likes at once. 

 

“Well, is it?” she asks curiously. 

 

“A bit, yes,” Kathryn admits sheepishly. “I really wasn’t kidding about admiring you as the lone queen. And as much as I love Frederick, I love my independence more.”

 

“Good for you,” Regina says, clinking their glasses. “We’re better off alone.”

 

Kathryn looks at her. “Oh-kay.” 

 

Regina glares. Kathryn raises an eyebrow. The bartender refills Regina’s tumbler. “I’m not talking about this,” she says, dizzy already. “I don’t want to talk about  _her_ anymore.” 

 

Kathryn frowns. “Are you two fighting again?” 

 

“No,” Regina says hastily. “No, no. We’re not…I’m not angry with her. I never should have been angry with her. None of this was her fault.” Her words are taking great effort to pronounce. She notices that first.

 

Second, she notices that her chin is wet. No, her cheeks. No, she’s crying. Dammit. “It’s fine,” she says, drinking. “We’re fine. I don’t need to talk about it because there’s nothing to talk about.” 

 

And then she drinks some more. And more. And she isn’t quite sure if she’s been crying for this whole time or if it’s started anew with her next drink, but she’s babbling something about Henry and Kathryn is murmuring something to the bartender and her eyes hurt. “Too much crying. More whiskey,” she orders.

 

“I’m going to have to cut you off,” the bartender says, flashing her a nervous smile. “Why don’t you let your friend take you home?”

 

“Why don’t I set you on fire?” Regina says politely, lighting a fireball with grace and queenly composure. It catches her napkin and she waves it menacingly. “More. Whiskey.” 

 

The bartender pours her another glass. She smiles. 

 

Someone to her right says, “Okay, that’s enough. I’m calling Emma.” 

 

“Emma.” She squints at the woman who’d had spoken, notes blonde hair and light skin, and makes an educated guess. “Emma’s here.” 

 

“Uh–“

 

“Why didn’t you curl your hair tonight?” she says, pouting. Emma’s hair is kind of limp now, the bouncy waves gone, and she doesn’t like it. She twists a hair between her fingers, fascinated, and Emma goes very still. That might be because of the fireball now hovering somewhere beneath her chin, though. 

 

“Not...” Emma starts, sighing. “It’s Kathryn? The woman trying to save you from alcohol poisoning? I’m not Emma.” 

 

Regina scoffs. “Of course you are. I’d know that…” She squints again. “…blurry face…anywhere.” She can’t quite make out the features, but they’re perfectly formed in her memories, the tired scowl and the eyes that can’t quite mask fondness with irritation. She’s missed that face. Maybe…just one kiss…

 

She’s leaning in, putting out the fireball absentmindedly so she can put a hand on Emma’s cheek, rubbing her thumb against her jaw. Emma says something in a strangled tone. 

 

And then, “Um. You called me?” 

 

She knows  _that_ voice, too, and spins around in sudden indignation. “Emma!” This Emma is blurry-faced and wavy-haired, arms folded over her red jacket and her voice strained. “Two Emmas,” she concludes, mind working quickly. Like a turtle moving through molasses, anyway. “One of you is an imposter. I’ll have to kill you.”

 

She lights another fireball with glee, examining the first Emma and then the second. Whiskey. She needs more whiskey. She takes a drink and then studies them again. 

 

The standing Emma says wearily, “Regina, you’re being an ass. Cut it out.” 

 

“I found my Emma!” She allows the standing Emma to guide her out the door, leaning heavily against her. “I like your hair better like this,” she informs her, sliding a hand under the curls.

 

Emma gives her a pained smile. “Yeah, I know.” There’s something important about that admission, but Regina can’t focus on it through the haze right now. “Come on. Let’s get you home.” 

 

“I’m tired,” Regina mutters, but she drags her feet alongside Emma and half-falls into the passenger seat of the patrol car. “Why did I think this was a good idea?” 

 

“I wish I knew,” Emma says tersely. She lightens her tone but can’t hide the tension behind it. “So…you and Kathryn, yeah? You go out for drinks a lot?” 

 

A lightbulb brightens in Regina’s mind. “Kathryn! That’s who I was with. I like her.”

 

“I noticed.” There’s a note to Emma’s voice that she can’t quite figure out. She groans, annoyed, and Emma says quickly, “I was just wondering. Forget it.” 

 

“Gladly.” She’ll figure this out in the morning. 

 

Emma makes her drink a full bottle of water when they get home, which is near an insurmountable task but Emma remains firm until she’s done. “Upstairs now,” Emma decides, a hand on Regina’s back, and Regina shivers even through her stupor and stumbles upstairs with her.

 

She tangles herself in her own clothes when she attempts to undress herself, and Emma slips her fingers under Regina’s waistband and tugs down her skirt. Regina sucks in a breath and grumbles a protest. “It’s nothing I haven’t done before,” Emma mutters, and Regina scowls but shifts to help her with her shirt. Emma’s fingers are cool and delicate against her skin, strictly business but still enough that Regina’s aroused despite herself. 

 

She wriggles in her panties and Emma eyes them warily and forgoes removing them. Instead, she goes to the dresser and fishes out one of her old oversized tees from a still-unemptied drawer of hers. “Here,” she murmurs, slipping it over Regina’s shivering torso. She takes off Regina’s bra in a smooth motion once she’s covered, tossing it to the floor and then kneeling down to tackle her pantyhose.

 

Emma’s touch down her legs is too electric, and Regina has a splitting headache and is half-asleep and desperately needs… _something._  She jerks her knees together as Emma’s hands reach her feet, massaging them automatically once the pantyhose is off, and Regina lets out a groan.

 

Emma looks at her in concern. “Hey, come on,” she whispers. “You can make it to your pillow, okay?” Regina pulls herself back, falling against her pillows and letting Emma wrap her in her comforter. “Sleep,” Emma breathes, knuckles along her jaw. She bends down for a moment to brush her lips against Regina’s forehead, and Regina wants to cry again.

 

“Why,” she whispers instead. “Why’d you…” Why had Emma come for her, why had she stayed, why are they still dancing this dance when they already know it’s doomed to failure?

 

Emma kisses her forehead again and Regina seizes her hand, presses Emma's wrist to her lips and keeps it there until Emma shudders and murmurs, “You know why.” 

 

Regina forms the words and struggles to get them out, one after the other and so painstaking that it hurts. “I don’t…I don’t want to live anyone else’s idea of my happy ending,” she chokes out. “I can’t.” 

 

Emma strokes her hair back behind her ears. “I know.” 

 

Regina shuts her eyes and waits for more, but there’s only silence, and then the quiet click of the bedroom door closing and Emma’s boots against the steps. 

 

* * *

 

And in the morning, she rolls out of bed at the sound of those boots slamming against the steps again. “Henry! Henry? Regina!”

 

She scrabbles at her night table, fishing out pills and swallowing them dry as she fights off nausea and struggles to focus. “Regina!” Emma is still shouting from down the hall, and she hurtles into the room and drops down, hands on her knees and chest heaving like she’s run all the way here.

 

Regina folds her arms over her t-shirt, remembering to be self-conscious about the night before. “What’s going on?” 

 

Emma’s face crumples at the confusion on Regina's. “Whale was found dead in the asylum,” she says, standing again. “Pan is gone.” She glances back toward Henry’s room again, and Regina’s heart freezes in her chest at the panic on Emma’s face. “And none of the boys came home from the woods this morning.”


	6. VI

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HELLO I HOPE Y'ALL ENJOYED THE FINALE anywayyyyy here is more of this!! I will post the epilogue in a few days and we can finish this right up.

They’re driving fast but it isn’t fast enough. Regina can feel the blood racing through her head, blocking out all thoughts but one:  _Henry is gone. Henry is missing_. Dammit, they were supposed to be  _done_  with that!

 

Her hands clench against her knees and she grits out, “We should have just teleported.” 

 

“We can’t teleport,” Emma says tightly. “We have to patrol around the perimeter of the woods and make sure no one charges in. That’s what Pan wants.” She’s shaking, squeezing the steering wheel so hard that her knuckles turn white, and Regina sucks in a breath and reaches for Emma’s thigh instead.

 

The last time Henry had been taken from them, they’d barely been allies. This time, it’s automatic that they seek comfort in each other, that Emma breathes a bit lighter with Regina’s hand on her thigh and Regina can focus when Emma glances at her with grateful eyes. “We’re going to save him,” Emma whispers. “We always do.”

 

“Indeed,” Regina agrees, but all she can think about is every time she’s lost someone– every time true love’s kiss had failed, every time she’d had hope and had it snatched away, every lost battle of  _DanielDaddyMotherEmma_ and only Henry had remained to be taken from her. 

 

But Emma needs hope, and so Regina nods mechanically and holds on tighter to her as they swerve around a corner to cut off the mob heading for the woods.

 

It’s a growing crowd, more and more parents and others breaking off from the route near Main Street and joining the others. It’s a clamor of shouts and threats and sobs, and the trees lash out at them with wild branches to deter them from entering. But each time, a few more people don’t jump back, and Emma lets out a low curse as they creep closer and closer to the woods. 

 

“The woods will kill you!” she shouts before one of the mothers from Henry’s class can charge into them. “And not just Lost Boys. Peter Pan is in there right now.” The mother hesitates.

 

Emma darts forward, addressing the crowd and responding to panicked parents with as much patience as anyone could manage right now. “Right now, we have on-call deputies surrounding the woods,” she says, nodding to Ruby as she jogs up. “We’re treating this as a hostage situation and waiting for Pan to begin negotiations.” 

 

“And if he doesn’t?” a girl demands. She doesn’t look much older than Henry, with threadbare clothes and hard eyes like Emma’s, and Regina feels a new bout of nausea. “What if he…my brother is in there. I’m not leaving him alone.” There’s a murmur of angry agreement.

 

Emma looks a little green herself as she responds. “I’m the savior,” she says firmly. “I’m going to save them all.” The ripple of uncertainty is quieted, the people looking to Emma with tentative trust, and Regina stands back, ill.

 

They’ve never had any luck before. And with the amount of energy that suffuses the woods, all she can think is  _portal, portal, portal_ and no hostage situation at all, just an escape. And all these parents– 

 

“Don’t think about it,” Emma murmurs when she ducks back into the car. “We’re going to win. There’s no other option.” 

 

She steers them along the edge of the woods, directing more people to the mob across from Main Street and talking down others. Regina remains in the car, numb with terror.

 

She only emerges from the car on their third stop, when they pull over and spot a man stalking toward the woods with a hunting rifle cocked and ready. “Marco!” Emma calls out, making a mad dash to stand between him and the woods. “Marco, wait!” 

 

But Regina reads his eyes a moment quicker– reads the weeks of desperation piled up, reads the moment of decision and the danger that comes with  _protect at all costs_ – and she shuts her eyes and teleports directly in front of Emma as Marco swings the gun to point it at her. “Marco,” she says carefully.

 

He startles but doesn’t move. “Mayor Mills. Please, both of you, step aside. I have business in the woods.” 

 

“You know we can’t let you do that,” Regina says, catching his gaze. “We have to protect you first.”

 

“Me, but not my boy.” Marco’s brow knits together. “You’ve made your promises and I’ve given you time, but here we are and nothing has changed. I can’t leave Pinocchio to Pan any longer.” The rifle is shaking and his eyes are mad, desperate, and Emma hisses out a curse.

 

The mob is getting louder at the other end of the woods. Ruby can’t hold them off for long, not even if David has joined her by now. And trust in the savior only goes so far. “Marco, we’re going in after them,” Emma promises. “This is it, okay? But you running in there with a gun you can’t even hold right isn’t going to help Pinocchio.” 

 

“Step aside,” Marco repeats, hoisting the rifle higher as he points it at Regina. There’s a flash of– he’s beseeching her to understand, somehow, to let him go save his son regardless of what he loses in the process. And she knows…

 

She swallows, reaching behind her for Emma’s hand while she raises her other hand. “You go back to the main group,” she murmurs. “I’ll take care of Marco.”

 

Emma barks out a dry laugh. “Regina, he’s holding a gun. I’m not leaving you here.” 

 

She catches Marco’s eye, waits for his nod before she turns around. The gun is still pointed at her back, but she keeps her breathing even as she smiles at Emma. “I’ve got Marco,” she promises, squeezing Emma’s hand. She hesitates, new fear and adrenaline pumping through her, but it doesn’t take much effort to smile again when it’s Emma in front of her. “I never got to say…” She starts and falters. “Thank you for last night, Emma.”

 

Emma looks at her askance. “Regina–“ 

 

“Go,” Regina urges her. “Marco won’t hurt me.” She glances back at him and sees his fingers tense around the rifle. “You have a town to protect. Trust me.”

 

Emma backs away slowly, her hands still in Regina’s until they’re too far apart to hang onto each other and they have to release each other. She’s still staring at Regina’s face like she  _knows_ what’s going to happen next– or at least suspects it, dammit– and she bites down on her lip and turns, fleeing back to the car.

 

Regina turns back to Marco, both of them staring at each other in silence as Emma drives away. “I don’t want to hurt you,” she says weakly, drawing a fireball.

 

“You want to come with me,” Marco says, eyes crinkling in that knowing smile. “Come, Regina. Our sons are in there.” 

 

He takes a step forward, as unafraid of her fireball as she is his rifle, and she shakes her head. “I told Emma to trust me,” she whispers, already too close to caving in. She needs to  _do_ something, to save Henry and stop Pan and–

 

Marco’s gaze softens. “Very well,” he says, and he cocks his rifle– Regina draws her fireball back and feels it sputter in her hand– and Marco hurtles into the woods.

 

“Marco!” she shouts after him, charging into the woods without a second thought. She’s on the ground a moment later, virtually flattened by the sheer power of the energy around her. It’s stifling and overwhelming, too much to move against, and she thinks of Henry’s miserable face and lifts herself up from the ground. 

 

She’s staggering forward, reminding herself to breathe in toxic oxygen and peering around desperately for Marco. He’s moving faster than her– far less handicapped by the magic around them– and she screams out a frustrated shout when the haunting strains of a pipe begin to play around her.

 

There are only a few boys around her, lurking in the shadows as she turns around to watch them. Not one of them is Henry  _or_ Pinocchio, and she shouts, “ _Marco_!” again over the pounding music.

 

She bats away the boys with only fists and determination, driven to see Henry and find Marco and reunite with Emma. She can’t stop now, no matter how much magic is draining out of her with each step, how much gravity is bearing down on her. There are no more  _tomorrow nights_ , and this is her last chance to–

 

“Henry,” she gasps out, dodging a stray branch and hurtling through the trees. “Marco.” 

 

“Regina,” she hears a responding croak, and she whirls around and moves in the direction of the call.

 

And there he is, sprawled across the ground, the rifle beside him. His skin is mottled with bruises and he’s sporting a black eye, and she drops down beside him, pressing a hand to his chest and struggling to reach the magic that the woods tamps down. “Oh, god. Marco–“ 

 

He puts a hand on hers, closing it gently. “Save your energy for our boys,” he murmurs. “I thought…somehow, I thought that going after them could be enough.” 

 

“We’ve tried,” Regina whispers. “I didn’t lie to you about that. But I swear…” She turns her hand in his, interlacing their fingers. “I save the boys or I don’t come back this time. Is that all right?” 

 

Marco guides her hand down to the rifle and closes his eyes, his breathing shallow. “Go,  _cara mia_ ,” he says. “Save them and  _live_.” There’s something urgent in the command, something Regina can’t process now when everything is still so dire. But she nods anyway, seizing the rifle and running back into the woods.

 

The music is high around her, boring into her thoughts and heightening her sense of fear, and she runs onward, deeper and deeper into the woods. It’s impossible to tell where the music is coming from: it’s around her and within her and close and distant at once, and she doesn’t know which way to go except where it’s harder and harder to feel her own magic blooming. Each step is a bit harder; each turn is a bit more suffocating; and she’s out of breath and hope by the time she breaks into a huge clearing glowing with pixie dust around her.

 

A robe-clad boy looks up, his hood falling back as he moves, and Regina sees Pan’s snarl of victory as he lowers his pipe. “Your Majesty,” he sneers. “Turn around.” 

 

She does, clutching the rifle tighter, and she sees only a flash of Henry’s face before he slams a branch against her skull and she sees nothing at all.

 

* * *

 

 

She wakes up to both her hands tied behind her back, her ankles bound and the rifle leaning casually against a tree several feet away. “Who were you going to shoot with that?” Pan says casually, lounging against a second tree. “Not your constituents’ dear children, I’d hope.” 

 

“I was going to blow off your head, you slimy little brat,” Regina grits out. “Haven’t  you learned anything from the last time you tried restraining me?” 

 

Pan smirks. “I went with something a bit more concrete this time. I underestimated how slippery you are.” He waves a hand, dismissive. “Then again, I believe I remain the one with leverage here.” 

 

Henry sits silently across the clearing, his face blank of recognition. “Sweetheart,” Regina croaks through a dry throat. Henry doesn’t move.

 

“He’s waiting for the main event,” Pan offers smugly. He stalks around the clearing, pausing where the pixie dust is strongest at its center. It whirls around, a bright coalescence of emerald magic, but not quite enough for the portal she’s suspected he’s after. Pan’s lip curls. “All those months of work to rebuild Neverland, and you and your family break the curse and cut us short at the finish line. How obnoxious.” 

 

Relief, guarded and still wary, washes over her. “You’ve been using all the children to power a new Neverland.” 

 

“It’s not enough.” Pan clenches his fists and jerks them forward like a child about to have a tantrum. Henry’s eyes follow him, but there’s no other sign of life from him. Pan turns, eyes back on Regina and unfriendly. “Which leaves me with only one option. You and your  _wife_ will make up for the magic you took from me.” 

 

It’s an absurd assumption and Regina laughs before she sees the scowl on Pan’s face. “Oh, you’re serious.” She shakes her head. “I don’t think ‘over my dead body’ is a strong enough response, is it?”

 

But Pan is unfazed. “Oh, it’s not  _your_  dead body I expect.” He raises his hands to the sky, calling forth more glowing magic, and he lets it fall forward in a quick motion. Two lines of green magic burn through the woods, clearing everything between them and forcing Lost Boys to jump out of their way. And in a matter of moments, a path stretches forth in front of them. 

 

“Emma Swan!” Pan thunders, smirking as cold fear grows in Regina’s stomach. “Come and collect your family, Savior.” 

 

The words echo through the woods– bouncing through the trees themselves and then as a whisper by the boys along the path.  _Emma Swan, Emma Swan, Emma Swan. Savior, Savior, collect your family, Savior_. Again and again until their voices are louder and louder, the chanting as musical as the pipe had been, and Henry is reciting with them.  _Collect your family, Savior_ , and Regina braces her hands against her bindings and snaps out a curse.

 

“Oh, don’t worry, Majesty,” Pan says pleasantly. “You won’t have those on for long.” 

 

“Go to hell,” Regina spits out, straining with all her might to light a fire. She manages a few sparks, enough to begin sawing through the rope but not nearly enough to break it. Pan rolls his eyes and leans against the tree beside her, fingers tapping against the holes on his pipe.

 

She hears Emma in the distance before she sees her. “Regina? Regina! Henry!” Emma is still shouting when she appears, a red blur in the brown underbrush. “Henry? Pan, you fucking ass! Come at me!” 

 

Pan smiles and puts his pipe to his lips again. And Henry moves. 

 

“No!” Regina cries out, but it’s too late. Emma is charging into the clearing, swinging her father’s sword like she actually knows how to use it, and Henry is wielding a stick to match it. Emma brings the sword crashing down on Henry’s stick and it shatters into smithereens, the sword slicing through Henry’s pajamas and dangerously close to his chest in one neat move. 

 

“Henry!” Emma nearly drops the sword, stricken. Pan blows another note and the stick and pajamas repair themselves. Finally, too late, Emma cocks her head and sees them behind Henry. “Regina, what’s going on? What happened to–“ 

 

“You can’t stop him,” Pan says calmly as Regina strains furiously at her bonds. “But you can help her.” 

 

Her wrists' bonds are released as Henry bears down on Emma again, empty-eyed and jerky under the spell of the music that echoes through the clearing. Regina’s hands spring apart violently and she jerks back against the tree, watching with horror as Henry slashes down on Emma’s shoulder.

 

Emma screams and something flickers in Henry’s eyes. It’s not enough. None of this is enough. 

 

And that’s when she sees what’s lying on the ground, just a few feet from the rifle. A second pipe, exquisitely carved to mimic a flute.

 

Pan knows. Somehow, he’d heard her confession to Emma weeks ago–  _Mother forced me into mastering the flute–_ and constructed one for this very purpose. 

 

Every note from Pan’s pipe is another little burst of magical exertion that puffs up in the green whirling mass of energy at the center of the clearing. And each note Regina will blow will pour a little more of Emma’s and her own magic into Pan’s portal.

 

Henry is swinging his stick viciously, cutting a long scrape down Emma’s face, and Emma is dodging and holding up her hands defensively and utterly helpless in the face of Henry’s brute force. She can’t hurt him but she can’t fend off the melody that seeps into the woods around them, and her only hope is–

 

“Emma,” Regina says, seeking permission. This is a total loss of control, as absolute as the curse that had brought them here, and Regina won’t force anyone to submit to that again. 

 

But Emma smiles tremulously, heart on her sleeve, and says, “Whatever we have to do to save Henry, right?” 

 

“Henry doesn’t want to be saved,” Pan says nastily, and Regina lifts the pipe and begins to play.

 

The notes are rusty at first, but she can feel the magic that surges through each one, moving Emma out of harm’s way and helping her slam her sword into Henry’s stick. It shatters and is rebuilt slowly, and Regina blows a series of quick notes that have Emma moving forward, restraining Henry with swift movements and tossing the stick away.

 

They’re joined together as intimately as they’ve ever been, across a clearing with a glowing almost-portal at its center. Emma’s movements are Regina’s are Emma’s and every breath is in tandem, every beat of their hearts together and stronger for it. Emma’s terror is balanced by Regina’s determination and Regina’s fear by Emma’s focus and when Regina plays her pipe, each movement is comforting as an embrace.

 

Pan blows a long note on his own pipe and Henry slides his legs apart, knocking Emma to the ground before Regina can respond; and she plays Emma back to her feet and somersaulting through the air, kicking outward like a video game character (Henry would love this, oh, god,  _Henry_ ) to throw Henry gently backward. 

 

The last time Regina had played a flute, she’d been a girl in Leopold’s palace, ordered by her mother to woo her fiancé's court with her talents. She’d played until her fingers had been aching and she’d been breathless and close to tears, trapped and alone under all those dismissive gazes, and then the king had turned away and called Snow to the piano.

 

Today, there’s only Pan sneering down at her and Emma with her face turned desperately to Regina, waiting for the next note to be played. Regina plays and plays until Emma is drenched in sweat and grime, until Henry is spinning around in circles and slowing down, a puppet with no energy of his own left to spend. 

 

“Henry,” Emma pleads, her own limbs jerking as Regina tugs her forward and then back, wary of inflicting any real damage on their son. “Henry, I know you’re still in there. We love you. We don’t want to hurt you.”

 

There’s another flicker in Henry’s eyes before his fist flashes out at Emma’s face. Regina pulls her back sharply, playing a note that has her flip her sword and swat at Henry with its pommel. He drops his stick. Regina says urgently, “Henry, you aren’t a Lost Boy. You have two mothers who want you,” and Henry misses a step and topples to the ground. 

 

Regina raises the pipe to her lips, blowing a note. Emma flips the sword again and points it at Henry’s chest. 

 

Pan scoffs. “Do you think that’s going to stop me? Do you think I care whether he lives or dies?” He whistles a single bar and Henry shifts closer to the sword point. Emma jerks it back without a note from Regina. “Let her kill you, Henry,” Pan says, bored. “Fall onto her sword.”

 

“I’d rather die,” Emma snarls. Regina can feel the energy between them thrumming, both of them so united in this single purpose that there’s no need to play the pipe any longer. Emma moves as Regina would want her without coaxing, without reminder, and Regina trembles and waits.

 

“C’mon, kid,” Emma coaxes. Henry moves toward her, eyes fixed on the sword. “I don’t want to get all…Principal Mfalme on you…” 

 

“ _Emma_ ,” Regina says pleadingly, awash with fear and affection. She wriggles her feet against their bonds, desperate to rush forward and stop them both.

 

Emma continues, irrepressible. “Remember who you are,” she intones, dropping the sword and grabbing Henry’s hands.

 

And Henry speaks. It’s the first time he’s said a word since Regina had stepped into this clearing, and his voice is raspy and emotionless. “I’m a Lost Boy,” he says, and Pan blows a note that has him dropping to the floor and seizing Emma’s sword. It’s unsteady, with none of the eerie synchrony that had accompanied the Lost Boy dances before, and the words escape with effort. “Isn’t that what you wanted?” 

 

He raises the sword and slides the tip of it against Emma’s chest. Emma whispers, “Henry,” and he presses it in deeper. Red blood stains the white of her shirt, spreading over Emma’s heart like a target.

 

Regina says, her heart in her throat, “Who the hell cares what we wanted?” There’s a glimmer of interest in Henry’s eyes. She swallows. “Who the hell cares what Pan says? No one decides you’re  _lost_ but you.”

 

Henry hesitates, his sword hand trembling. Emma raises her chin and shuts her eyes, waiting. Regina bites out desperate words. “So you think that…that you’re the reason we’re not a family? Like  _fuck_ that means you’re a Lost Boy. We did just fine in Neverland and we didn’t even like each other then.” 

 

“I liked you,” Emma says with a whine. She also says it with a sword digging into her chest and their son in crisis, because of course she does. But it brings a glimmer of something that might be humor and might be uncertainty to Henry’s eyes, and Regina sucks in a breath and trusts her.

 

“Yes, well, I liked you, too.  _Fine_ ,” she gripes in response, watching Henry’s hand loosen around the sword. “But we loved you, Henry, and that brought us together. And…and whether or not we…love each other–“ She shuts her eyes.

 

She can hear Emma pick up her thread. “Look, kid, maybe someone’s controlling you right now…” Her words are pained, rueful, and Regina doesn’t dare open her eyes to see Emma’s face. “But he can’t make us care about you any less, okay? If you…if you want to run off and be a Lost Boy, well, I think your mom’s going to insist you get an education first. And I think you should probably go on a date or two–“ 

 

“Over my dead body,” Regina grinds out. Pan is playing music again, long and mournful as a dirge, and Emma’s voice is growing higher and more panicky. 

 

“Whatever happens– whatever you do next–“ she says. “We love you. We’ll always love you,” she says, and Regina opens her eyes at last.

 

Emma is bent over on the ground across the clearing, a hand pressed to her bloody chest as she stares at them in horror.  _Them_ , because Henry has moved, has crossed the clearing with his sword in hand and is staring down at Regina with fathomless eyes. 

 

“We never needed it to be perfect to love you,” Regina echoes, and she doesn’t try to run again. She doesn’t yank at the bindings around her ankles anymore. She waits, and Henry brings the sword crashing down on her.

 

It slices neatly through her bindings and she’s moving before he’s done, jerking to her feet and flying to the rifle that Pan had left a few feet away from him. Henry runs in the opposite direction, the almost-powered portal sputtering as he passes it, and he’s dropping to his knees beside Emma as Regina raises the rifle and points it at Pan. “Well,” she says. “I’m pretty fucking tired of you meddling in my family’s affairs.” 

 

For the first time ever, Pan actually looks afraid. She can feel a shiver of satisfaction at his fear, a deep-seated viciousness that she’s never been able to shake.  _Good_. He’d made her helpless, taken away her choices and sabotaged something that could have meant the world to her. She kills without hesitation the men who take from her.

 

She cocks the rifle, her finger drifting to the trigger, and Pan says, “Wait.” 

 

“No,” she retorts, disbelieving. There’s nothing he can say now that’ll spare him. She shouldn’t have listened to Emma at all, that evening in the asylum, and she won’t–

 

“I can return the curse,” Pan says, and Regina freezes. He smiles, smugly aware that he’d hit pay dirt. She  _loathes_ him. “I can give you everything you’ve failed so miserably at recreating.” He raises the pipe to his lips again and she can’t quite stop him, can’t pull the trigger before the woods are thrumming again and images wash over her.

 

Emma– not Emma bleeding out a few yards away but Emma with that sunshine smile who stops by the stables and kisses her sweetly and oh, god, it’s so  _easy_. Emma who loves her family fiercely and is open and unrestrained, every wall gone and nothing insurmountable left to traverse. 

 

Henry who never goes to the woods. Henry who does his homework and writes silly fiction about fairytales and is so inquisitive and smart and thoughtful and she’s so proud of him. Henry who isn’t standing with the weight of his mothers’ legacies weighing down on him, and who walks ever lighter for it. 

 

_Family_. Not shattered pieces glued feebly together, but a whole that had never been broken in the first place. “I only took the boys because I needed them to power the portal,” Pan reminds her. “I can return them to their parents every day if there’s a curse again. Henry will be free, and the other boys will be home. Let me go, and I’ll cast the curse for you again and fix everything.” 

 

She's wanted it so desperately that she’d fought for it– that she’d given up on the spot when they hadn’t gotten it right– that she looks at Emma every day and longs hopelessly for the version of the story where they work out, even when it means surrendering who they are for it. And now… 

 

“You can have it all,” Pan coaxes her, eyes catching hers. “You can be the mayor again, if that’s what you need. You can settle Emma’s issues with her mother. No more villains or fighting or breaking spells. Just your happy family reunited. You can be  _perfect_.” 

 

_Perfect_.

 

_We never needed it to be perfect to love you_ , she’d told Henry. Perfect Henry– Henry who doesn’t express his pain until it’s bottled up and overflowing and infecting everything he sees. Perfect Emma– Emma without walls or secrets or any tension between them, who suppresses every prickly part of herself in fear of losing their love. Their perfect family– whole and unblemished and without any of the messy imperfection that they’ve fought tooth and nail for.

 

Regina can feel new tears pricking at her eyes, new determination suffusing her with the choice she finally seizes. Across the clearing, Henry is sobbing in Emma’s arms and Emma is propped up against a tree, watching her in silence. 

 

Regina catches her gaze, still uncertain, and Emma gives her a reluctant nod of permission.

 

“Perfection is a lie we tell ourselves when we know better,” Regina says, and she shoots Pan in the face. 

 

* * *

 

The woods seem to open as the portal fades away, the trees drifting apart and the forest brighter and sunnier. Regina’s magic floods her again and she walks more easily to Henry and Emma, calling forth her last reserves of energy as she bends down and presses her hand to the wound on Emma’s chest. Henry curls up for a moment beside her, his hand tight in Emma’s and his head resting against Regina’s side for a moment before he gets up again to stretch his legs.

 

There are boys everywhere; boys crying for their mothers and boys who stare blankly at the portal as though it had been their last hope, and the mob of parents finally break into the woods and converge on them. The hospital has emergency workers on call, and one of them tends to Emma’s already-healing wound while another heads out to find Marco in the forest. Archie is walking around with Pongo, talking to frightened boys who haven’t found their families or who don’t have any to find. 

 

“Are you okay?” Emma says, watching Regina as her eyes flicker around the woods. “I’ve never seen you this overwhelmed before.” She laughs weakly. “You’re usually…shaking hands and kissing babies at this point, right?”  

 

“It’s been a long morning,” Regina manages.

 

“Yeah.” Emma’s eyes are bright. “You did good, though.” Her hand is on Regina’s now, soft and comforting, and Regina wants to kiss her for what must be the hundredth time this week. 

 

“Pan…” She clears her throat. “Do you know what he offered me in exchange for his freedom?” 

 

Emma shakes her head. “I know it was good because you looked pissed about it. But I can’t imagine what–“ 

 

“He wanted to give us back the curse,” Regina blurts out, and Emma’s eyes widen.

 

“Oh,” she breathes. 

 

“I don’t want to live anyone else’s idea of my happy ending,” Regina whispers, an echo of a night that seems much longer than a dozen hours ago. She bows her head and murmurs, “I want to live ours.” 

 

“Ours?” Emma repeats, her thumb drawing a gentle path along Regina’s lifeline. Imperfect, infuriating, ridiculous Emma, who’s hardly  _easy_ and rarely as simple as a happy ending.

 

Regina wants nothing more and nothing less than exactly that. “Is that okay?” she ventures, suddenly afraid. Every step along the way can be a misstep, can be a loss, can be a moment where everything goes wrong. 

 

And it’s the moments when it doesn’t that mean the world. Emma laughs, loud and disbelieving. “Do you really not know by now?” she demands, leaning forward to kiss Regina soundly. When Regina pulls away, stomach fluttering and head buzzing pleasantly, she catches sight of Henry standing with Archie and Pongo, pumping his fist as he makes a face at them. “It’s perfect.” 

 


	7. Epilogue

Regina wakes up alone and grouchy, her engagement ring clutched in her hand as it is on such days.  _Never go to bed angry_ , she’s read in insipid advice columns in magazines that Ruby leaves around the station. But overnight, anger turns to crankiness and something mildly like regret, easier to cope with than the burning fury of before.

 

She tucks the ring back into its case, a thumb running over the stone as a caress that its intended will never feel.

 

She makes breakfast for Henry, overcompensating as best as she can for her foul mood, and he gives her a knowing look and says, “She’s been really into Granny’s apple pancakes lately.” 

 

Regina’s mouth falls open in outrage. “ _How dare she_.” 

 

“Yeah, yeah. She says that yours just aren’t processed enough. If she wanted an apple, she’d eat an apple.” He grins, biting into his own pancakes with gusto. “I don’t know what she’s talking about. Your pancakes are badass.” 

 

“Yes, well, I raised you to have good taste,” Regina sniffs. “And– Henry!” she scolds, scowling at his swearing.

 

He saunters from the room, unbothered, and she shakes her head and packs up her briefcase before she drops him off at the bus stop. He still hugs her goodbye, lets her brush a kiss against the top of his head and squeezes her tightly regardless of who’s watching. On days when Emma’s there, too, she ruffles his hair and gives him a kind of half-hug and he tucks his head against her shoulder and exhales.

 

They’ve been adjusting, step by step, even if sometimes it’s beginning to feel like one step forward and two steps back. (The rest of the time she’s disgustingly content and it’s all worth it.)

 

Granny raises an eyebrow when she makes her order and adds a free donut. “You’ll need it,” she says at Regina’s glare, and she’s still laughing when Regina stalks out of the shop with her head high.

 

And  _fine_. Maybe it was a good idea. Damn Granny.

 

Her anger is all but dissipated by the time she pushes open the station door, but her anxious smile fades when she sees David at the desk instead of Emma. “Where is she?” she barks out, infuriated. 

 

David smiles at her, that odd pseudo-fatherly smile he’s been offering her lately. She glares back. “She was going to stop at your office before work today,” he says, unperturbed. “I don’t think she was expecting you to–“

 

“Oh,” Emma says from behind her. “There you are.” 

 

“Oh,” Regina echoes, turning. 

 

Emma has a takeout bag and a coffee of her own from Granny’s, and she holds it out helplessly. “I got you…”

 

Regina eyes it warily. “Those had better not be apple pancakes,” she says, heading for the desk. Emma gives David a significant look and he grins agreeably, patting Regina’s shoulder as he exits the station. 

 

“Henry told you, that little shit,” Emma says, aghast. “I should have known. He–“ Her eyes narrow as Regina tugs the plastic container out of the takeout bag. “But you got me the pancakes.” 

 

“I brought mine, too,” Regina says stonily, retrieving a second container. “If you’re going to have terrible opinions, at least have educated ones.” She bites her lip. “And…I’m sorry about last night.” 

 

Emma passes her her own bag, her favorite panini at the bottom of it. “You’re not the only one,” she murmurs, and Regina sighs with relief and crosses to the other side of the desk to kiss Emma softly. “I missed you,” Emma says, and then hesitates. “Your mattress,” she clarifies. “That is a damn good mattress.” 

 

“I do have impeccable taste,” Regina agrees, pointedly prodding the container with her own apple pancakes forward. Emma snags the donut instead. “Emma!” 

 

Emma ignores the reproach. “I really am sorry,” she says. “I was kind of an ass yesterday.” 

 

“You were,” Regina agrees gamely. “But I wasn’t any better.” She takes a bite of a Granny’s pancake and makes a face. Emma arches an eyebrow. “I was taught magic with some…questionable methods,” Regina concedes. “A lot of darkness, a lot of reliance on anger and fear to power my magic. And I may have been...unintentionally using them with you. I was the one who set you off.” 

 

“I still want to do magic with you.” Emma wiggles her eyebrows suggestively. “And not just because you’re the only one in town who can teach me.” Regina scowls at her. “But because that look you get when we’re doing it– when your eyes get all glittery and I’m never sure if you’re going to shoot those sparks or strip naked and murder people–“ She sucks in a breath. “Fuck, it’s really hot.” 

 

It’s getting warm in the room. Regina manages a wicked smirk and sits back on the desk, crossing one leg over the other. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” 

 

Emma leans forward, eyes hungry as they rake over Regina’s body and pause where her dress has ridden up her thighs. “You really wanna go with that?” she hums, sliding a hand onto Regina’s knee. 

 

And then– of course– the door to the station flies open. Regina jumps off the desk and Emma snatches her hand back, cheeks still flushed. “Marco! What’s up? Everything okay?” she says rapidly. 

 

Marco shakes his head, too agitated to notice anything amiss in the room. “It’s Ramon again.” He wrings his hands at the thought of the Lost Boy, whom Emma’s had to skip out on far too many dinners to chase. “I caught him in my shop again and he made a run for the woods. But he took something that I’d been restoring from the pawn shop, and I don’t know how equipped he is to handle one of Mr. Gold’s…” He shakes his head, deep lines etched across his forehead.

 

“You’re worried about him,” Regina says, startled. Ramon has been a constant thorn in Marco’s side, resistant to any efforts to set him up with a stable family and settling on harassing small business owners instead. 

 

But Marco bows his head in acquiescence, compassionate as he’s always been and quick to forgive. “I need to find him.”

 

And Regina can only nod. “Of course.”

 

* * *

 

They stride through the woods, Regina tracing a magic signature as best as she can in the forest that is still steeped in leftover pixie dust. Emma has her hand in Regina’s so Regina can use her magic, ostensibly, and certainly not because they’ve become  _that kind_ of couple. That would be absurd.

 

Emma grins at Regina as though she knows what she’s thinking and gives her hand a squeeze, letting them swing together. “Listen, later today, I was thinking we could go out.” 

 

“Go out where?” Regina says, puzzled. “More magic?” 

 

“Out-out.” Emma shrugs. “Like…dinner and a movie? Henry at my parents’ place?” She bites her lip, self-conscious. “I know we spend pretty much all of our time together anyway, but it’s just… All the memories we have of our dating period were from the curse, right? And I thought we could try to do something real instead.” 

 

“Ah,” Regina says. They  _do_ spend most of their time together. Emma spends the night more often than not, and they have lunch dates and magic dates and family weekends. But a date is…

 

A date is good. “Yes,” she murmurs. “I’d like that.” She can feel that utterly humiliating, too-wide smile that splits her face and softens it spreading across it now. “Do you think–“ 

 

In front of them, Marco holds up a hand, cutting her off. “Do you hear that?” he says, frowning. 

 

There’s…singing? It sounds like a crowd of men, all bellowing a tune in unison as they move through the woods. And then there’s a shout of indignation that they all recognize. “Ramon,” Emma says, and sprints forward, Regina practically dragged behind her. 

 

Their hands finally slip apart when they reach the clearing where the noise is coming from, Regina drawing an instinctive fireball as she surveys the scene. The gaggle of men are dressed in the clothes of the Enchanted Forest, their leader smaller than the rest and wearing a hood. And off to the right, an enormous man is holding a squirming Ramon in one hand and a woman is surveying him critically. 

 

“Put me down! Put me down!” Ramon is yelping, struggling to break free. He jerks forward and sees them, his face paling considerably. “Oh, shit. Marco. Let me down!” 

 

Emma says, gaping at the woman, “ _Mulan_?” 

 

“Emma Swan.” Mulan–  _Mulan_ , Henry’s going to have a field day with this– looks startled. “So that was a portal, then?” 

 

Emma sighs. “Peter Pan half opened one in this town. It’s been unpredictable since. I didn’t think I’d ever see you again!” She looks pleased about it– too pleased, and Regina scowls at them both. “So…you still with Aurora?”

 

Mulan shakes her head. “These are the Merry Men,” she says, gesturing toward the men around her.

 

Regina speaks up. “And let me guess,” she says, pleased when Mulan catches sight of her and wary recognition flares on her face. She motions to the hooded leader. “You must be Robin Hood.” 

 

The leader tugs her hood down. “I prefer Marian, Your Majesty,” she says, eyes boring into Regina’s. “We’re here to warn this town of a terrible threat.” 

 

Well, it had been a nice few weeks while they’d lasted.

 

* * *

 

The Merry Men have been hauled off to meet with Snow and be properly introduced to the town, but Marian and Mulan have joined them at the station. “We don’t know where she came from or how she made it into the Enchanted Forest,” Marian says. Emma and Mulan are in the next room, ostensibly talking security. Regina glances over to them too often to be discreet. “But she calls herself the Wicked Witch of the West. She has a cadre of–“ 

 

“Flying monkeys, yes, I know,” Regina says, unimpressed.

 

“You’ve met her?” 

 

“Yes. We have Evil Anonymous meetings every weekend,” Regina deadpans. Marian looks perplexed. Regina sighs. “No. But I’m familiar with her.”  _Like every damned fairytale in this land that interrupts my idyll._

 

Marian departs soon after to rendezvous with her Merry Men, but Mulan remains in the station, still engrossed in conversation with Emma. Regina sits on the couch, surreptitiously eavesdropping. 

 

“I really thought you were going to stick with Aurora forever,” Emma is saying, laughing. “You were so protective of her, last I saw you.” 

 

Mulan’s eyes darken, barely visibly. “And last I saw you, you were talking about how everything you’d all been through had been the Evil Queen’s fault.” Regina cocks an eyebrow. When she’d first seen Emma after her trip to the Enchanted Forest, Emma had smiled at her with tearful gratitude at odds with Mulan’s recounting. Or maybe she’d misjudged Emma. Or Mulan had. “And now you’re dating her?” She sounds amused and just a little judgmental. 

 

Emma says, “We’re married, actually. It’s, um…complicated. We were family first, and now…she’s really, really amazing.” She looks up, catching Regina’s eye. “And she’s changed. We’ve all changed.” 

 

Mulan follows Emma’s gaze and quirks a smile. “I can imagine,” she says, and when she leaves the station, it’s without the cool animosity from before. Regina is still huffy about it, though.

 

“You’re jealous,” Emma accuses her, annoyingly gleeful about it. “I’m not allowed to have other friends?” 

 

“I don’t care what you do,” Regina sniffs, folding her arms and sitting back against the couch. 

 

“At least I never drunkenly tried to make out with a friend in front of you–“ 

 

“I thought Kathryn was you!”

 

“Yeah, yeah.” Emma drops onto the couch beside her, leaning into her shoulder and sliding her arm around Regina’s. “So, another new enemy, huh.”

 

“Anything other than a literal overgrown teenager,” Regina grumbles. “I can take the Lollipop Guild or a few Munchkins.” 

 

“Wow,” Emma says. “You really haven’t watched that movie.” 

 

Regina pokes her. “I’m living it now. Isn’t that enough?” 

 

Emma says thoughtfully, “When I was little, I used to watch  _The Wizard of Oz_ and imagine that I was really Dorothy, taken from her aunt and uncle, and my parents were in Oz all along. I guess I wasn’t that far off. Though I never did get a dog.” 

 

“Well, there’s always Ruby.” 

 

Emma looks at her. “You hate all my friends, don’t you?” She brushes a kiss to Regina’s cheek, not waiting for the answer. “I’ve got to go see how Marco’s doing with Ramon. I will see you later.” She winks and slides a hand onto Regina’s shoulder, fingers skittering along her neck in a tickling motion that has Regina shivering.

 

“Later,” Regina echoes as Emma rises, fondly watching Emma's hips sway as she swaggers out. 

 

* * *

 

_Later_ means a preemptive panic over what to wear that has her pacing her bedroom, running through prior date outfits in her memories. She can’t wear  _that_ one, that’s the one she’d worn at Emma’s proposal. Emma had taken this one off with her teeth that first time they’d gone to a formal event together and wound up fucking in the coat closet. For the first time in months of resenting false memories, she resents them most for taking so many firsts from her and Emma that’ll never be the same again.

 

_Better,_ she decides grimly, selecting the dress she’d worn at Christmas during the last months of the first curse. In her false memories, Emma had fidgeted at the front door on Christmas Eve in a knitted sweater, a wrapped gift for Henry in her hands. Regina had stared at her blankly and Emma had dug an envelope from her pocket. It’ _s the picture they gave me when he was born_ , she’d mumbled.  _I had a copy made. I didn’t know if you’d want– I mean, you must have so many pictures–_ She’d made to put it back away and Regina had seized her hand.

 

Emma had stared at the hand in hers and Regina had felt a warmth creeping through her cheeks, unbidden.  _Why don’t you come set Henry’s gift under the tree?_ she’d suggested, and Emma had smiled at her, suspicious but curious, and hadn’t second-guessed the invite. Regina had stared at herself in the foyer mirror for a long time before she’d joined Emma and Henry in the living room.

 

Her true memories of that night had been agonizing and lonely, Henry glaring at her sullenly from the couch before he’d run to bed, away from the Evil Queen he’d so despised. Regina had cried and when Emma had rung her doorbell with a nervous smile, a gift for Henry, and a hand fiddling with something in her pocket, she’d snapped at her and sent her off instead. 

 

She puts the dress on and Henry beams at her when he sees it. “Ma’s going to be super wowed,” he informs her, and she tries to hide her pleased smile but fails. 

 

Their first date in her false memories had been after the first time they’d slept together that Christmas Eve. Henry had gone to bed and Emma had been flushed with eggnog and joy and love, and Regina had  _wanted_ so deeply that she’d been afraid to contemplate soft kisses or quiet admissions. Instead, she’d slid her dress up and straddled Emma on the couch and Emma had put her hands on Regina’s hips and leaned forward, inhaling deeply, and–

 

Christmas morning had been a mess of pretending, shoving Emma into the bathroom before Henry could run in and then winding up in the shower with her and then finally sneaking her out the door when Henry had had his back turned. Two days after Christmas, Regina had arranged their first formal date, both of them in dresses at a classy restaurant and finally something like conventional.

 

Tonight, she thinks they might be past the getting-to-know-you stage, but she’ll be damned if Peter Pan gets to dictate what their first date will be. She’s had Game of Thorns send over a bouquet of flowers and she scowls at Snow’s face when she comes over to pick up Henry and gets moon-eyed over them. “It’s not  _sweet_.” 

 

“It’s very sweet.” Snow beams at her, nine months pregnant and misty-eyed over every little thing. “You know, a part of me can’t believe I’m saying this, but Emma’s lucky to have you.”

 

“Stop looking so happy about it,” Regina says crossly.

 

Snow’s smile doesn’t falter. “I’m so happy that you two are here for each other,” she sighs.

 

Regina wraps her arms around Henry, kisses the top of his head and lets him run for the car before she turns back to Snow with a smile that has stricken fear in the hearts of villagers for decades. “I plan on making her very happy tonight,” she says coolly. “Multiple times. In varied positions.” Snow looks slightly ill. “Thanks for taking Henry tonight,” Regina says cheerfully, and guides her out the door.

 

She’s left with ten minutes to herself before Emma’s due to arrive, and she paces in the hall, puts the bouquet in a vase and then reconsiders, checks her bedroom for any sign of her earlier panic and cleans the already-spotless living room and dining room and  _waits_.

 

And Emma’s five minutes late, then ten, and her ire is rising when she gets a text message.  _Bug wouldn’t start. On my way._ There's a pause, and then a little  _< 3 _delivered so hastily that Regina can picture Emma’s uncertainty and then the snap decision to send before she could reconsider. Her irritation melts away, though her smile still looks strained and tense in the mirror. 

 

She watches from the window as the patrol car pulls up and parks in front of the house. Emma is dressed less formally than she is– less formally than she ever had when they’d dated during Pan’s curse– wearing a pair of pants that aren’t denim, at least, and a pretty blue sweater that Regina hasn’t seen before. 

 

Regina waits a minute after she rings the doorbell, and then lifts her bouquet and answers it. “Emma,” she says, plastering a smile back on her face. And it’s impossible not to compare it to the last time they’d dated, to easy conversation and a lot less time spent holding her breath, but she  _tries_. 

 

Emma shifts from foot to foot, grinning and the same trapped look in her eyes that must be in Regina’s. “Hi,” she says stiffly. “I…um, there was this whole complication with Ramon this afternoon– Marco wants to foster him, actually, and Ramon seems kind of into it? And Game of Thorns was already closed when I went to get flowers and–“ 

 

Regina holds out her bouquet, suddenly relieved. “For you,” she says, and Emma bursts into near-hysterical laughter.

 

The fury and humiliation bubble back up within Regina, outrage at Emma– at any of this, so painstakingly planned all day and  _laughed at_ – and how  _dare_ she. How dare she.

 

She turns on her heel, dropping the flowers and storming back into the house, desperate to reach the kitchen before she starts to cry. “Regina!” Emma calls after her, stricken, and Regina turns around despite herself–

 

And she catches sight of Emma holding the flowers to her, the front of her sweater soaking wet from the dampness from their brief sojourn in the vase. There’s an almost comical look of chagrined horror on her face, and Regina takes a breath and nearly chokes on the burst of laughter that spills from her mouth instead.

 

Emma’s eyes widen and then she’s overwhelmed by new laughter, the two of them doubled over on opposite sides of the foyer, gravitating closer and closer with every helpless gasp. “I’m sorry,” Emma sputters, swallowing back new laughter. “I… _fuck_ , I don’t think I’ve gotten flowers in years.” She looks up pleadingly. “I didn’t expect…”

 

“I know,” Regina says, twisting her fingers together. Emma had mentioned that as an aside one day just before Pan's curse had broken, a joke that Henry had laughed at and Regina had filed away for the future. “That’s why I…”

 

Emma’s eyes soften. “Well,” she says, dipping her nose down to inhale the scent of them. Her eyes flutter closed and a tiny smile lifts her lips and Regina glows. “Okay.” 

 

“I’ll get you last night’s leftovers next time instead,” Regina promises. Emma looks hopeful. And then rolls her eyes. And then looks hopeful again. 

 

And Regina can’t contain her fondness again. She moves forward, tugging the flowers away from Emma and pressing a long kiss to her lips. “You look beautiful,” she says, winding her fingers through Emma’s. 

 

Emma exhales against her lips. “I’m all wet,” she says. Regina cocks an eyebrow. Emma winces. “I _mean._ My sweater is soaked. And we’re not supposed to be kissing yet.”

 

“We’re not supposed to be married, either, but when has that stopped us?” Regina drawls, extending her left hand. She still doesn’t wear her wedding rings, but she keeps another ring on that finger, almost a reminder.

 

Emma’s brow furrows. “Yeah, we’re going to do that right sometime,” she says. “I’m going to grab one of your shirts.”

 

Regina blinks after her as she heads upstairs. “ _What_? What are you–“ 

 

The phone rings, interrupting what would probably have been a momentous conversation. Regina glances at the caller ID, sees it’s the station, and sighs. _No. Not tonight._

 

She determinedly ignores it, waiting until Emma saunters downstairs in one of her blouses. “You rearranged your closet,” she says, eyes dancing. “Since yesterday.” 

 

Regina scowls at her. “Well, _someone_ waited until the last minute to ask–“ The phone rings again. This time it’s David’s cell phone, and they exchange weary glances as Regina picks it up. “This had better be about my _son_ , or–“ 

 

“We found the witch,” Mulan nearly shouts into the phone. “Can you hear me? Can she hear me?” she asks to someone on the other end.

 

“Lower your voice,” Regina says sharply. Emma puts a hand on her arm, and she takes a deep breath. “Yes, I can hear you. We’ll take care of it tomorrow.” 

 

Mulan sounds dubious. “Look, I understand that you have an evening planned, but I don’t know if we’ll get a tomorrow with this witch. Every day we don’t defeat her means more of your town turned to flying monkeys or worse.” 

 

Emma bites her lip. “We just…” She’s shifting from foot to foot, darting glances at Regina and the phone and then staring down, and Regina knows there isn’t a choice at all.

 

“Tell us where to meet you,” she says curtly, and Emma drops her hands and walks out of the room. 

 

Regina finishes the conversation and follows her out. She’s standing on the porch, staring into the bouquet of flowers with an unreadable look on her face. “I’m sorry,” Regina murmurs.

 

“I know you are,” Emma mumbles. “But…just one night, you know? I thought we could just have one…” She sighs. “I’m sorry. We should go.” 

 

Regina waves her hands and changes their clothes to something more casual. Emma lays the flowers down in the back seat and drives, both of them silent as they head out to the farmhouse where Mulan and David will be waiting.

 

“I didn’t think you’d be able to enjoy tonight if you were worried about the future of the town,” Regina says, another apology to a downcast Emma. “I thought it was…the _right thing_ to do.” She makes a face.

 

“I know. You’re right.” Emma half-smiles at her. “I guess I just wanted…”

 

Regina reaches out to stroke her arm. “We’ll have other nights.” She’s suddenly grateful for the patrol car’s bigger front seat and how easy it is for Emma to park the car and then slide over to her. They’re tangled together in the seat in a moment, foreheads pressed against each other and arms wrapped tightly around the other woman, and Regina wants to stay in her arms forever. “I love you,” she murmurs, holding Emma close.

 

Emma shuts her eyes, shifting so her head is pressed to Regina’s cheek and her fingers are digging painfully into Regina’s back as though she’ll never let go. “I love you, too,” she breathes, and Regina feels new warmth bubbling in her heart. “Let’s go kick this witch’s ass. And then make reservations again for tomorrow.” 

 

“Tomorrow,” Regina agrees, the word passing between them like a promise.

 

They step out of the car with their hands still entwined, and David looks vaguely embarrassed when he sees them. Emma’s cheeks flame. “We didn’t–“ 

 

“You were in there for quite a while,” Marian says, eyeing them interestedly. 

 

“We were just talking!” Emma protests. Regina smirks at all of them and glares when Marian smirks back. Ah. Someone to _never_ introduce to Kathryn, then. 

 

Mulan clears her throat. “Anyway, the witch,” she says, and Regina likes her a bit more. “She’s been lurking in the house, but I think she knows we’re out here. Maybe she’s been waiting for the main event.” She nods to them.

 

“We got this,” Emma promises. “I’ve taken down way worse.” 

 

Mulan quirks an eyebrow. “Right. You…make evil witches your family.” 

 

“Okay, that happened once.” Emma’s brow furrows. “Maybe twice. Is Cora my mother-in-law now?” Regina stares at her. “Not this one!” she says, jerking a thumb at the farmhouse. “What are the odds, right?” 

 

Regina squeezes her hand before she babbles any more to a very amused Mulan. “Ready?” 

 

Emma catches her gaze and holds it, eyes warm. “Always.”

 

They release their clasped hands and stand side-by-side, palms outward and magic ready to fly free. 

 

The door opens– the witch strides forth, the skies grow darker, the world seems to narrow but for Emma by her side– and Regina and Emma strike as one. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All the thanks go to Spark for helping me work through a lot of this story until it all fit together nicely– this whole fic is 100% his fault or y'all might've gotten a oneshot instead. SORRY. 
> 
> And a special thank you to Turtle and Aimee, who sat over my kitchen table eating soup and talking me through most of the epilogue. i miss y'all a lot <3


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